Still Fighting
by Miss Saigon
Summary: In the long-awaited sequel to 'Still Alive', Harry Potter and his ghostly friend Draco Malfoy still have a lot of work to do. They have failed to destroy Voldemort's weapon. Meanwhile, Harry's friends try to adjust to him being still alive.. and fighting. AU (Canon to OOtP only, SA universe)
1. Answers

Notes: Still Fighting is the long awaited sequel to the completed _Still Alive_. Both stories are OotP-compliant only and do not necessarily contain canon from any successive books. The author does not claim rights to any characters, places or plot created by J.K Rowling. Thank you to all my readers for being so patient in the years following _Still Alive_. The sequel will likely be a shorter piece than its predecessor, but will hopefully tie up all the loose ends and lead up to a dramatic conclusion!

**Still Fighting**

**1. Do I Know You?**

Draco Lucius Amadeus Malfoy was a ghost, and he was haunting Harry Potter. He had become more or less accustomed to this over the last eight or so months that he'd been dead, as strange and, well, other-worldly as it had originally seemed. What was harder to get used to was the tug. It was not quite pain, but whatever the ghostly equivalent of pain was. Draco knew that most ghosts haunted the place where they had died, or some other location important to them, which seemed rather restricting. He had wondered once why miserable ghosts like Moaning Myrtle didn't just get out more. He knew now, of course. It was the tug that tied a ghost to its unfinished business. And Draco was tied to Harry. _Better than having to haunt Ynys Addoed,_ he thought, as Hermione Apparated Harry's pale, still body to the hospital.

He felt the tug instantly, but he could resist it for a while. As much as he wanted to make sure that his friend was taken care of, he knew Harry would rather he stay and make sure everyone got off the island. He glared at some nearby trainees until they started moving people into the boats.

"The worst hurt are being Apparated in," Blaise Zabini said from beside him. "There are some medi-wizards around but they can't help everyone. Some of them'll probably die."

"I know," Draco said. "Maybe it's better for some of them."

Blaise looked up at him, momentarily taking his eyes off his large charge, the former guard Hamza, who was helping with the supplies under the suspicious gazes of thirty MLE trainees. "What's it like?" he asked. "Being dead, I mean."

"Boring," Draco told him shortly.

"Except on days like today?"

"Exactly."

"Was that really Potter?" Blaise blurted out, as though this had been the first question he had wanted to ask.

"Yes," Draco said. "Hang on a sec."

He floated over to where a trainee was helping the three Hogwarts students who had stupidly decided to follow Granger to the island. The redheaded one, Weasley junior, was carrying a coloured bag over one shoulder. The thin mousy one looked pale and slightly green as he stared at the boats bucking and tossing in the waves. The girl was still carrying the tiny newborn swaddled in bloodstained cloths. The trainee, the one Weasley had called Beau, looked tireder than all of them.

"What'll you do with the baby?" Draco asked, standing with his ghostly feet on the sloping rock edge.

The Gryffindor girl piped up when no answer was forthcoming from the other man. "He's coming to the hospital with us."

"Look after him," Draco told her.

"I will."

"Buzz off, will you?" the young trainee muttered, clearly distracted, and Draco didn't think it wise to argue with him. He watched the boat leave, then floated back inside the castle to make sure no one would be left behind on the prison island. The trainees had taken lots of prisoners and left lots of bodies.

Draco floated through the halls, feeling as though he really was haunting the place. He had died here, not too long ago, at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. But from what the Gryffindor students had babbled, he knew that she was dead now. Harry had promised to avenge him, and he had done it. He had also said he would do it before the baby was born, but that wasn't his fault, not really. Draco hadn't really even expected him to do it.

"_Could you?"_ he remembered asking as he sat beside Harry in Harry's cell. _"Kill your own child like that?"_

"_Not my child,"_ Harry had argued. _"It's a toy – a weapon. If what you heard is true –"_

"_Voldemort seemed pretty sure."_

"_Then I won't even see it until its old enough to hold a wand, and then it'll be too late. For everyone. I have to destroy it."_

"_If you say so." _

Harry had been too late, but maybe it was all for the better. In their hands perhaps the baby couldn't be used for evil... perhaps. Still, if they had stuck with the plan everything would have been a lot simpler.

Satisfied at last that there was no one around, Draco floated outside again. The boats were all in the water, bobbing and bucking on the stormlike-waves that never seemed to calm around the island. It made the place seem very drab and uninteresting, now that there was no one in it. Draco remembered a time when it had seemed the most terrifying place in the world. Now he was dead, of course, there was no need to worry. Finally, when all the boats were almost out of sight in the after-rain mist, he closed his eyes and let the tug take him away.

Someone passed through his before he had a chance to get his bearings. An orderly, carrying a bundle of sheets over both arms, walked though what felt like an icy cold shower. She shrieked in surprise, dropping her burden and jumping to one side. "Oh, dash and blast it!" she squeaked when she had regained her breath. She drew her wand and spoke into it. "Hello, it's Maddie on the fourth floor – we're going to need an exorcist up here right away."

"Hey!" Draco exclaimed indignantly.

"Yes, I understand," the girl simpered with rather practiced-sounding sympathy. "I realise you don't want to leave so soon, but you're _dead_, you see. And normally that would be all right, but this _is_ a hospital, and it does tend to disturb people a little more than it would usually. Besides, if we didn't exorcise regularly we wouldn't be able to move for spirits."

"I'm not a patient," Draco snapped. "I'm here to see Harr – er, Mark Jenson. That is – oh never mind."

He followed the tug up the corridor, leaving the girl rather stunned in his wake. He had been separated from Harry for about an hour – which was usually long enough for his flesh-and-blood friend to get himself into trouble. He moved a little faster – then, when he heard yet another upstart orderly calling for the exorcist, he went invisible.

So it was that he walked into the waiting room outside the ward without anyone noticing him. "He woke up?" Hermione was saying, looking frazzled. Her hair appeared to be standing on end.

"Just for a moment," replied another girl. Draco vaguely recognised her – she was quite petite, with red hair cropped just under her ears. Weasley's sister, he guessed. "Then he passed out again."

"Did he say anything?" That was Dumbledore, looking the same as ever. Draco glanced around at the other people in the room – apart from Granger and the two Weasleys there was Draco's cousin Nymphadora Tonks, the werewolf Lupin, a tall dark man Draco didn't recognise and what appeared to be Neville Longbottom. The last was wearing a lime green orderly's robe.

"Yes," the red haired girl said, her voice lilting a little. "He asked me who I was."

"There," Weasley announced triumphantly. "Now try and tell me that's Harry in there. No way he wouldn't recognise Ginny."

"He was stabbed, Ron," Hermione reminded him. "He's confused – wouldn't you be?"

"I can't credit this," Snape snarled. Weasley appeared extremely surprised that the Potions Professor had come down on his side. "We've been through this once already with Flint. Potter is dead. This man..."

"He's another imposter!" Ron shouted. Tonks put a hand on his shoulder.

"Voldemort would not try the same trick twice," Dumbledore insisted. "Besides, if what you say about the ghost of Draco Malfoy is true, then there is at least one person who has been convinced for at least several months if not years."

"Malfoy didn't even _know_ Harry!" Ron hissed, brushing Tonks' hand aside. "He hated him! Besides, Malfoy definitely _is_ dead. Who says he's a reliable witness – he could be having us on!"

"Draco Malfoy was on our side when he died and I can only surmise that he is still," Snape argued. "But ghosts can be fooled and so can half-dead prisoners."

"He's sick," Longbottom interjected. "Can't we wait to figure out who he is until he's better?"

"First sensible thing anyone's said so far," Draco murmured, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

The argument ceased instantly. "Draco," Snape said after a moment's silence. "Is that you?"

"No, it's the ghost of Merlin's dessert butler, of course it's me," Draco snapped, coming back into visibility well out of the eyeline of the door. He shot Longbottom an icy glare. "Call for an exorcist and I'll freeze your kidneys off," he announced.

"Charming," Longbottom grunted.

"What do you know?" Lupin suddenly asked. Draco looked at him. He looked older and tireder than ever, but there was a dangerous glint in his amber eyes. "Who is this man? What is happening?"

"Remus," Dumbledore said in a warning tone. He turned to look at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy."

"Professor," Draco replied, feeling oddly as though he were a lot younger and about to be given detention.

"My, ah, sympathies," Dumbledore said.

Draco looked down at himself. "No need," he said eventually. "I don't really miss it, you know."

"I wonder why," Ron grunted. "You look a fright."

"Thank you," Draco snapped back.

"How long?" Snape asked.

Draco shrugged. "Two years."

Snape put a hand up to his face and pressed two long fingers to his temple. "I am sorry."

"You must have suffered terribly," said Granger, putting her end in.

"It was months ago, I'm over it," Draco said, shaking his blood-striped hair out of his eyes and crossing his legs in mid-air. Since it appeared this was going to take a while, he might as well be comfortable. "Harry got through four years."

"If that's Harry, why doesn't it look anything like him?" Ron immediately demanded. "The face is wrong, the hair is wrong – his eyes aren't even the right colour!"

"I know," Draco said, resting his chin on one hand. "But I can't help there, I'm afraid. I only met him after, and I didn't realise just how different he looked until we got out.

"After?" Hermione prompted.

Draco looked at her. "After he died."

They all stared at him. "Rubbish," Ron snarled eventually.

"Hey, you were there, not me," Draco pointed out. "He doesn't really remember being set on fire but it definitely happened. Lestrange moaned about it enough. Not to him, though," he added. "He doesn't really know. I haven't told him."

"Why not?" Lupin asked suspiciously.

"Didn't think it was my place, I suppose. Anyway, Lestrange says – used to say – that he was burned to death, but he came back to life. Voldemort tried to kill him a few times, apparently, but he always came back."

Hermione's eyes were wide. "Does Harry know about that?"

"Sort of. I had to tell him something when we found out about the baby."

The redhead girl squeaked, clearly uninformed of certain events. "Baby?"

"Lestrange had a baby while we were on the island," Ron explained. "She seemed to think it was Harry's."

"It is," Hermione said, before Draco could. "If you'd looked at him, Ron – he has Harry's eyes. You would know too."

"You should have brought the child here with him," Snape put in. "Not to mention the three students who somehow managed to find themselves in the thick of things."

"Oh, those three," Hermione sighed. "They must have followed me – the cheek of them! That Quin, he's the ringleader."

"I want a word with William as well, when they get here," Lupin said, to Draco's surprise. "The idiocy of it all."

"Children," Dumbledore said with a tone of exasperation that was rather unlike him. "If you would please allow Mr. Malfoy to continue?"

"Thank you, Professor."

"In fact, I think it best if you began again – from the beginning this time, if you please."

Draco sighed, giving his best expression of ghostly martyrhood. "Oh, very well."

They all sat down, some more reluctantly than others, at Dumbledore's hand motion.

"I got sent to Ynys Addoed in October '99. I was working for Professor Snape, as you probably know, letting him know things that filtered down to me from my father's people. I was rather low down on the Death Eater hierarchy, so I couldn't really help much. Anyway, this one day I was in the manor while my father was having a meeting of 'business associates'. I wasn't attending, but I watched them leave. They were all wearing masks, but I recognised a couple of them. Then I felt this hand on my shoulder, and this voice said to me: 'tell Snape there's an imposter at Hogwarts."

Draco saw Hermione stiffen up, and a couple of the others looked surprised as well. Clearly Snape had never let on who had given him warning of Flint's dangerous game. "Who was it?" Snape asked.

"I didn't know at first," Draco replied, casting his mind back to the incident. "I panicked at first, I thought for sure I'd been found out and it was someone playing games with me. But when he moved away I saw his hand. It was Pettigrew."

Lupin's hand went white as he gripped the arm of his chair.

"I wrote a note to Professor Snape in code," Draco went on. "My father caught me though, just after I'd sent it. He's really mad, you know," he sighed. "Stark raving. I barely had time to think before he'd called his henchmen in on me and I was being hauled up in front of the Dark Lord. I thought he was going to kill me, but... I don't know, maybe Pettigrew stood up for me, or something. He might have thought I would hand him over if I thought it would save my life. Trust a coward to think like a coward. Anyway, I ended up in Ynys Addoed. Lestrange tortured me for a few hours, then they threw me in this cell."

"Next to Harry," Hermione interrupted.

"Well, yes. I didn't really believe it was him, at first, but after a while I figured he didn't have a reason to lie. And after a year... well. He was too much of an arrogant prig to not be him."

Ron flushed. Draco ignored him.

"Eventually I figured Harry would probably be my only chance of escape, and my time was running out. They give you sentences in Ynys Addoed, and at the end of them you don't get set free – well, except in a spiritual sense, I suppose. I only had two years. So I helped where I could – I taught him Legilimency."

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged glances. Eventually Snape snorted. "Well, at least somebody could."

"Anyway, we started plotting our escape. Before anything could happen though, Harry started being dragged out of the cells more and more – this was about February last year. I asked him what was going on but he wouldn't tell me. Then about six months later he told me Lestrange was going to have his kid."

Ginny put her hands over her face.

"I didn't ask him much – I guess he didn't want to talk about it. But Lestrange liked to talk. Between us we worked out that Voldemort had ordered the creation of this baby, to use as a weapon, we think."

"He said Voldemort had a weapon that had been made with his blood," Hermione said softly. "But how could such an innocent thing be a weapon?"

"Voldemort tried to kill Harry," Draco repeated. "And he failed, over and over. He wouldn't have anyone else do it either – it's apparently very important that he does it himself. We think that Voldemort was going to raise Harry's son to help him – in one way or another. We were going to try and do something about it, but then..." he winced. "In October..."

"Your time was up," Tonks suggested.

"I suppose you could put it like that. Next thing I know... here I am. Dead, painless, but still around. It wasn't all bad – it meant I could wander all around the castle and see what they were up to, invisible. I haunted my father for a while. He tended to stick around the manor a lot more after that." He allowed a spectral grin to cross his face. "That's when we put our escape plan into action. I distracted the guards and Harry snuck out of the cells. He was just strong enough to climb the stairs to my father's room. I knew there was a vial of Restorative Potion in the drawer so I –"

"You gave it to him?" Snape exclaimed. "Do you realise how dangerous –"

"Of course I did, Professor, I might be dead but I am not an imbecile," Draco replied hotly. "But Harry would have collapsed there and then otherwise – it was all he could do to get that far. He jumped out of the window and let the current take him to shore. I had to help a bit – if I try I can manipulate my morphic field to affect things like wind and water."

"But the Restorative Potion ran out when he reached Hogwarts," Hermione said.

"Maybe not," Longbottom said darkly. It was only the second thing he had said, and Draco looked at him surprised.

"Of course it did," he argued.

"He was stabbed in the stomach," Longbottom said. "But what he's going through now is much more reminiscent of extreme withdrawal symptoms of a Restorative. Are you sure he couldn't have taken more of it?"

Draco stared at his former classmate as things suddenly became clear. "Oh, bloody hell," he whispered.

"He did seem to recover astoundingly quickly," Dumbledore mused.

"I thought he was just lucky," Draco said, remembering the way Harry had collapsed outside the pub and been sick as a dog the next day despite having not drunk anything, but had perked up immediately after a quick trip to the bathroom. The way his scar had only been visible intermittently. "Oh - _idiot_ - he must have kept the vial. I told him to just take a sip, but..." he floated down in his sitting position to the floor. "He's addicted now, isn't he?"

"Almost certainly yes," Snape muttered. "He's been living on borrowed time – he'll have to wait for all his old injuries to heal on their own time and more."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Why didn't he just recover properly at Hogwarts?"

"He wanted to be ready," Draco said, looking up at her. "We promised each other that when we got out, the first thing we'd do would be to stop the child being born. He knew we didn't have much time – not enough time for him to heal properly."

"You failed," Ron interjected. Draco turned on him.

"Thank you, _again_, Weasley, for pointing that out! Harry was supposed to kill Lestrange today but he was too damn late! That baby is a bloody danger to him, you, and your whole precious society, so whatever you do, _don't_ let anyone get their hands on that child!"


	2. Anything Happen to You

**Oooookay, you guys. You talked me into it. I've been struggling with this story because I started it so long ago that I get confused how much canon I'm allowed to use! But I am cranking them out again because people keep messaging me asking for the end of this. So I'll do my best. **

**-*~2~*-**

The waiting room at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was full to bursting. Magical Law Enforcement officers and trainees alike sat or lay around on stretchers, waiting for their turn. Beau led Beth, William and Quin through the confusion, the three children staying as close as possible to their temporary guardian. Beth hugged the small bundle to her chest, whispering soothing words. The baby's extraordinarily green eyes were closed, its breathing even. She glanced up once to see Quin looking at her with an oddly soft expression on his face. She flushed and returned to watching the back of Beau's robes.

The trainee found an orderly who, on seeing the three thirteen-year-olds, hurried them into the lift and into a ward where Healers were already moving hurriedly between beds. Magic fizzed in the air, making Beth's eyes water. When one of the men in dark-green robes came over to them, Quin tried to push her forward, but she shook her head. "Will should go first," she said quietly. "We're fine." She held the baby closer.

The Healer peered at William, who looked reluctant. "I'm okay too," he said quickly.

"A Death Eater cursed him –" Quin began, but stopped in surprise as a tall, grey-haired man came up from behind them to put a hand on William's shoulder.

"I will take care of Mr. Ross," said the man. William suddenly looked guilty and worried. "Healer Pye, I suggest you send the others to ward 115. There are people waiting for them there." "Very well, Mr. Lupin," said Pye, looking as though he didn't care where they went as long as they weren't in the way. "I'll take them," Beau said. Lupin led William away, but not before he glanced at the bundle in Beth's arms. Beth thought he looked a little afraid.

"Don't worry," she whispered to the sleeping baby. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

It was a grim-looking group that met them when they reached the waiting area outside ward 115. Professor Granger, on seeing them, hurried forward. "There you are! Quin, I've had your parents worried sick for hours."

Quin paled. "Oh."

"They're on their way. Are you hurt at all?"

Quin shook his head. "No, Professor." He looked up as a tall redheaded man came up behind Professor Granger. Beth wondered if he might be Quin's brother. "Hi, Ron," Quin mumbled.

Beth looked up, interested despite herself. This then was Ron Weasley, Quin's connection to Harry Potter. He looked tired and angry. "You're a little idiot, you know that?" the tall man snapped.

"Not now Ron," said Professor Granger, shooting him a dark look. "Let the boy get some sleep, at least." Professor Snape was looking at Beth very oddly, and she realised that most of the people were looking at her, as well. Then she realised that it wasn't her they were looking at, but the baby in her arms.

"Is that the child?" Snape asked.

"We should have a Healer take a look at... him?" Professor Granger said, glancing at Beth for confirmation. Beth nodded.

Quin's cousin took a reluctant step forward and hissed as the baby's face came into full view.

"I told you," Professor Granger said softly.

"Still doesn't prove anything," Ron muttered, but he sounded uncertain.

"I'll take him, Miss Green," said Professor Granger.

Beth hesitated. "I… promised I wouldn't let anything happen to him," she said.

Professor Snape looked ready to spit teeth. "Miss Green, you are in _quite _enough trouble already -"

"It's all right, Beth," Professor Granger said gently. "I'll look after him, I promise."

Reluctantly, Beth let her teacher take the little bundle out of her arms.

"Where are you going to take him?" she heard Quin's uncle Ron say as she turned away. "St Mungos is for Magical Maladies - birth isn't magical _or _a malady, last time I checked."

She didn't hear Professor Granger's answer because Snape was already leading her and Quin away. "But -" she started to protest as he led them out of the room and towards the Floo point. "I want to know - is Mr J - I mean, Harry, is he going to be all right?"

"It remains to be seen," was the sour Professor's only answer. "The two of you are going to the Hospital Wing where Madam Pomfrey is going to keep you overnight, and you are not to say anything about any of this to _anyone_, is that understood?"

"But -" it was Quin's turn to protest.

"_Is that understood?_" The tone in Snape's voice could have frozen a boiling cauldron.

"Yes, Professor," Beth sighed.

Madam Pomfrey was instructed to treat them for shock, when they finally got back to Hogwarts. Beth did not even have the strength to insist that she was _not _in shock, she had only seen some things she had rather not, although the more she thought about them the more she kept shivering and she did have a terrible headache. Quin was the same, except he kept airing his thoughts out loud.

"You think Jenkins will be okay? What happened to Will, do you think? Who was that bloke who made off with him? Reckon Professor Granger knows him?"

Beth was too tired, especially after Madam Pomfrey gave her a thick, marshmallow-tasting potion, to answer him.

Eventually though, William did show up. He came into the hospital wing looking sheepish. "Where've you _been_?" Quin demanded.

"Getting in trouble," William muttered.

"What for, nearly getting killed? She said you would explain to us. What happened, then?"

William sat down on a nearby hospital bed and ran a hand through his hair. "Promise you won't freak out?"

"Depends what you're gonna say," Quin argued.

William glared at him. "Fine, if you absolutely _must _know, and you absolutely cannot _tell _anyone… I'm a werewolf."

"_What?_" It was Beth who squeaked. Quin sat there speechless, his mouth hanging open.

"The man who met me at the hospital, his name's Lupin. He's a werewolf too, the only one apart from me that's ever gone to Hogwarts. He's been… sort of sponsoring me, making sure I don't… making sure I'm safe and not doing anything stupid. He was really really not pleased about today."

There was a long silence. Then Quin let out a burst of laughter. "No wonder you survived the killing curse! Only silver can kill werewolves, right?"

"And a few other things. We're going to learn about them in Defence Against the Dark Arts this year." He still looked very uncomfortable. "You're not… frightened?"

"Of you? After today? Don't be an idiot."

William turned to look at Beth. "And you, B?"

Beth did not know what to think. It was too much to take in after the blur that was the day she had had. People had been killed. She had _thought _that William had been killed. She still felt like she had blood on her hands.

"B?" Quin was frowning at her, and William looked worried. "You've gone all pale."

Her vision was blurry and she felt nausea creeping up. The last thing she felt was her head hitting the pillow.

**-*~2~*-**

**Hope you enjoyed that, belated as it was ;) This story might still be a bit sporadic because I'm now regularly updating 4 other stories. Please go and check them out, I'm working very hard on them. But I promise to eventually finish this so you can all move on with your lives!**

**Add me to author/story alerts/favourites to stay updated!**


	3. Restoration

The first two months that followed the battle at Ynys Addoed were a blur to Harry. There were several agonising moments that stood out in his memory, later, but in general the days and nights simply bled into each other. He lay in a bed at St Mungos, shivering and vomiting as the cravings for the Restorative potion wracked his body. A few times they had to tie him down. Old wounds opened and had to be magically healed. His left hand bled continually from the stump of his ring finger. His right arm seemed to burn continually with snake venom.

Sometimes times he woke up and was told he had been asleep for days. It was a relief, because he knew he had slept through days that would have only been painful. The more sleep he could get, the better, but sometimes sleep simply would not come, and he would lie, awake, trying to make sense of his jumbled mind.

They said he had lost some of his memories. He knew that, of course, there were gaps in his recollection he couldn't explain, but apparently there were bigger things he hadn't realised were missing.

Neville was one of his healers, which took some getting used to. He was very professional, and treated him just like any other patient, hardly ever acknowledging that they had known each other before. One day when Harry was lucid enough to understand, he showed him a picture of the redheaded girl who had come in when he had first woken up, and explained that this was Ron's sister. More than that, Harry had apparently dated her for a while before his capture. This news was extremely disturbing, as he didn't remember anything of the sort.

"What else don't you remember?" Neville asked him once this had sunk in. Harry gave him a cynical look.

"All right, stupid question maybe. But there must be some things that don't make sense, with such big gaps in your memory."

Harry thought about it for a while. "Most of fourth year is a blank," he admitted. His voice was very hoarse. The Restorative potion had fixed this temporarily, but now even speaking a few words was painful. "I remember getting on the train for the first time, when I was eleven, clear as day, but fourth year… is like a void. Except the very end. And some other stuff, I guess… like riding a broom for the first time.

But… there are things I forgot that came back," he added slowly. "Like Hedwig… I forgot I even had an owl, and then at Jenson's house, I suddenly… remembered. It hurt like hell," he added, scratching absent-mindedly with his maimed hand at the place the silver knife had gone in. They had healed the place, of course, but it still itched occasionally, as if to remind him of his abysmal failure on the island.

Neville frowned and nodded. "Maybe these other things will come back to you as well then," he said. Harry only half hoped that they would, and he doubted it. He was sure there were things that he didn't remember that he didn't _want _to remember. And anyway it seemed more likely to him that his memories returning were the result of the Restorative, and no one was likely to give him any more of that, ever.

"Neville," he said, before the other man could leave.

"Yes?"

"Er… I still can't see so well," Harry admitted. "I've been managing, but… is there any way you could get me some glasses?"

For some reason, Neville looked surprised by this request. "Right," he said eventually. "Yeah, of course."

"Thanks."

There were some things the Healers could do for him that he hadn't expected, once he had stopped sweating and throwing up every hour or so. One of them spent hours working on the scars around his eye, and he came out of it looking a lot less like a zombie. There wasn't much they could do about his missing fingers, but an expert from the Creature-Induced Injuries department came to look at the snake bites, and got very excited about it. Apparently the _Basium Poena _torture was a fascinating study. He spent about a day poking at the tender marks with his wand, and then spread a thick, mud-coloured potion on it that hardened. He was told it would absorb any remaining venom and drop off once it had done its work. Within a day or two the pain had almost completely stopped. The burn down his side they also fixed with a potion, that stung uncomfortably for a few hours before fading to a barely noticeable scar.

He was not allowed out of bed, except when the Healers made him get up to do exercises, and was never allowed to leave the ward. He was too tired to make an issue of the fact that he was being treated like a prisoner. It felt good to rest for a while. And at least he had Draco for company, since the only way they could get him to leave the hospital was to exorcise him. They talked at a lot. Harry would have thought they had little left to talk about, after two years living in adjoining cells and four months of sharing his cell with the ghost Draco. But it turned out there was a lot more to talk about than he had realised.

"You're saying I'm immortal," he said flatly, once the conversation had reached the point where he had understood this.

"No…" Draco frowned, a lock of silver blood-stained hair falling into his eyes. "Technically if you were immortal you would live forever. I'm guessing old age will kill you just as much as it would anyone else."

"But I can't be killed."

"Not by any means Voldemort could think up, and he's pretty imaginative, as you know."

"By why?"

"I don't know. Dumbledore said something about your mum, but I always thought that was a one off."

"So did I." Harry sat in silence for a few minutes, taking this in. "And when they took me… I was lit on fire."

"Apparently. I wasn't there but I heard about it pretty damn quick."

"And… Ron and Hermione saw that."

"Yes."

Harry swore. "No wonder they don't believe I'm alive."

"Granger's come around, mostly. Weasley might take some more convincing."

"Ron always did take some convincing about most things," Harry sighed. "How are they?"

"Fine, whenever they show up for a chat. It's usually Granger, or Dumbledore."

"Why don't they want to talk to me?"

"They do, idiot, they won't stop wanting to talk to you, but the Healers won't let anyone see you until they know you're over the Restorative. Which I'm still furious about, by the way."

Harry glared at his ghostly friend. "I had to, Draco."

"I told you to take one sip - just one! Just enough to get us off the bloody island."

"One sip wasn't enough. I would have been in bed for weeks - "

"Like you are now, you mean?"

"Yes, but you _know _we had to get back before…" There was a short, uncomfortable silence. "But we were too late, so it doesn't matter anyway," he said eventually.

Draco, perched weightlessly on the back of a plastic chair, leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "You weren't too late to avenge me. I should thank you for that."

Harry closed his eyes. He didn't want to be thanked. He could see Lestrange's mad eyes misting over, feel her blood washing over his hand, even as he felt a sharp pain just under his ribs. The spike had pierced him almost through.

At least now he knew why he wasn't dead.

"You haven't asked about him," Draco said into the silence.

"No."

"Don't you want to know? He is your son…"

"_No_," Harry hissed. "I didn't want it, I didn't… I don't want it. It's a weapon, and it was apparently put on this earth specifically for the purpose of _killing me. _I don't want anything to do with it, all right?"

Draco paused, as though trying to think of an alternative argument to this, but there was none. He had just spent the last few days patiently explaining just that, after all. "I get that," he said eventually.

"Good," Harry said firmly, and refused to hear any more on the subject.

~*-0-*~

Another month, and he could finally walk without wincing at every step. Physically he felt as well as he had on the Restorative, though he still had the occasional shaky moment. His head was still a jumbled mess, no matter how many specialists they sent to poke around in it, but Neville came to him one day to tell him he would be allowed to have visitors, if he wanted.

"As long as they're not armed," Harry said with grim humour.

The young healer even smiled at that. "I promise to search Ron personally if he wants to come," he said. "Though don't get your hopes up, Harry. I think he's still in mourning for that trainee girl that died. They were good friends, I think."

Harry nodded. He thought Ron might have different reasons for not wanting to see him, however.

Dumbledore came, and after half a minute of that blue-eyed stare, Harry started to wish a hole would open in the ground to swallow him up. "Wotcha Professor," he said, after so much silence he could no longer stand it.

A smile tweaked the edge of the old man's grim mouth. "Your Occlumency has improved significantly," he said, low.

"Oh." Harry hadn't even realised the old Headmaster had been testing him. His touch must be incredibly subtle. "I can let you in, if you want. About three dozen healers have been in my head recently, one more probably won't hurt."

He half expected Dumbledore to politely refuse, but after a moment's hesitation, he nodded. Harry closed his eyes and pulled down the mental walls Draco had helped him to build, years ago now but still strong. They were all that had kept him sane over his last year of imprisonment and there was a time he had promised himself he would never lower them for _anyone. _But now his life probably depended on letting Dumbledore in. If Dumbledore, a man who had given second chances to men like Hagrid, Lupin, even Tom Riddle, if Dumbeldore didn't believe him… what chance did Harry have?

He felt Dumbledore sift gently through his memories - the ones he could reach, anyway. Harry tried to stay separate from it, tried not to see what Dumbledore was seeing. He counted Nifflers in his head until it was over, when Dumbledore withdrew suddenly, almost painfully. Harry opened his eyes and blinked at him.

"Well, you certainly have Harry's memories," the old man said. The tone in his voice was one Harry had never heard before. The man had always been kind to him before, sometimes too kind, like when Sirius died and all Harry wanted, needed, was to be shouted at for getting him killed, but all Dumbledore would do was sit there calmly and be so damn _logical_. But now his tone was almost apathetic. "But then, so did the imposter."

"How is that?" Harry asked. Draco had told him about the imposter, what he could find out about it. Two and a half years after Harry's first 'death', a Death Eater had come to Hogwarts wearing Harry's skin. He had somehow fooled everyone into thinking he was Harry, and had killed Professor Flitwick before Snape came back to the school and warned them. It was Draco's message that had warned Snape, and that message had got him sent to Ynys Addoed. Harry understood now why Draco had never told him before. Of course no one would believe him now. It was like a game of the boy who cried Harry. "How did they do it?" he repeated when Dumbledore made no answer.

"We assumed he must have stored your memories somehow before he killed you," the old man said eventually. "An extra-strength Pensieve, perhaps… but now it seems more likely that he simply transferred your memories to Flint directly. If he did, it was using Dark Magic I have never heard of."

Harry sat still for a moment, thinking. "Is that why my memories are so confused, now?" he asked, and for the first time Dumbledore smiled.

"Very good, Harry. A clever deduction. It is a possibility. Of course, there could be other reasons. From what Mr Malfoy told us, you have come to within an inch of your life several times, each time taking your physical body further away from what it was. It is possible it may have caused your memories to degenerate, also. Then again, human beings are remarkable things. It could be that your own mind shields these memories from you as a protection."

"Protection?" Harry couldn't quite credit it. How could such innocent memories - Ron's sister, his first broom ride, the Triwizard Tournament… why would he need protection from them?

"You have been through some terrible things," Dumbledore said, unnecessarily. "Sometimes the human mind protects us in ways we might never truly understand."


	4. What Happens Now

_**Bonus chapter!**_

_**Warning: This chapter contains mention of rape and torture. And more swears than I usually use. **_

**~*-0-*~**

Harry had been looking forward to Hermione visiting, but the event turned out to not be as enjoyable as he had hoped. It didn't help that it came off the back of Kingsley coming to interrogate him. While he wasn't deliberately unfriendly, Harry got the feeling that the Auror felt that his impersonation of Mark Jenson was a disgrace and an affront to his memory.

"He was my friend," Harry told him angrily. "He would have wanted to help me."

"Be that as it may," Kingsley said darkly. "Impersonating a member of Magical Law Enforcement is a crime."

"But he wasn't a member of Magical Law Enforcement," Harry pointed out. "You all thought he was dead."

Kingsley had no answer to this, but he could hardly arrest him. The Order had agreed that Harry's return should not be publicised. It had been difficult to hush it up, since a hundred trainees had heard his name before the fighting broke out, but those trainees had all been very carefully debriefed, and some of them even Obliviated, in order to keep certain things confidential. The other members of the Order had been informed, and of course Neville and Ginny knew, but those were all they told. For now, to whatever general public he might meet, Harry would have to continue being Jenson.

Kingsley would not give him any answer as to when he would be able to leave, merely coached him on Jenson's history and Auror knowledge until Harry wanted to scream. Luckily Draco showed up not long after that and talked so frankly and graphically about _how _Jensen had probably died that he left, stormy-faced.

"That was mean," Harry said disapprovingly when he was gone, but he couldn't help feeling grateful.

Draco shrugged. "My smart mouth always did get me in trouble. Now it's the best weapon I've got. Bloody idiot, treating you like a criminal. If it weren't for us all those trainees'd probably be dead, too."

"Dead or worse," Harry agreed ruefully. "Don't blame Kingsley. He just found out one of his own was a Death Eater. He's just trying to make sense of it all."

"Connolly wasn't much of a Death Eater," Draco muttered. "Think he's still alive?"

"Probably not," Harry sighed. He sat back and closed his eyes. The meeting had left him feeling drained, and his hand was throbbing.

"It must have driven them mad trying to figure out how you got through the school wards," Draco sniggered after a while.

"I was dead," Harry said shortly. "Who was to know the wards would recognise me? At least _something_ does."

Harry tried not to look at himself in mirrors. Now he was a little fuller of face, after a few months of being well fed and cared for, it was harder to disregard the changes as the effect of torture and starvation. His reflection was a still a stranger, only a trace of the old Harry remained. Even when he put on the glasses Neville had made for him, it was just a clearer picture of the same stranger. He didn't blame Dumbledore, the Aurors, even Ron for not believing him. The man who looked back at him looked much, much older than the sixteen year old, fit Seeker he had been, or even the twenty year old he now should be. His hair was dull, his eyes no longer resembled his mother's. He still had the scar, of course, and without the Restorative to hide it it stood out red and burning on his forehead, constantly hot with Voldemort's anger to the point where he hardly noticed it anymore.

He thought he looked even less like his old self than he had done before the battle. His eyes especially were grey where before he was sure they had been hazel, as if either the stabbing or the aftereffects of the Potion had leeched the colour from them.

He hated to look at himself. He didn't remember being set on fire, but he was sure now that that was what had changed him so much. And yet there were no burns, at all, except the one down his side where Lestrange had branded him with her wand, years ago. Had he burnt to ash? Had he risen again from the ashes, like a Phoenix, in a new body? He could just imagine Voldemort's reaction to that.

~*-0-*~

~*-0-*~

When Hermione came, an hour later, he was still deep in these gloomy thoughts, sitting on top of the sheets with his head against the wall. She smiled at him, but did not even attempt to hug him, as she once might have. "You look better," she said, as Draco made a subtle exit through a wall.

"I feel better," he said, flatly. "May have something to do with not having a spike stuck between my ribs."

She frowned, and he wondered if he had said the wrong thing. "You don't sound like him at all, you know," she said eventually.

He flinched and looked away. "You mean I don't sound like _me_."

"Yes, of course."

There was a short, awkward silence. "How's Ron?" he asked finally.

"He's fine."

"I heard one of his friends got killed."

"Yes. Her name was Jeanne."

He sat silently for a moment. "Tell him I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I didn't mean it like that."

Hermione nodded. "Where's Malfoy going?"

"Who knows? He likes it here, I think. Lots of ghosts to talk to, before they get exorcised. He pops up every now and again to check I'm still alive."

She shook her head. "You've been spending too much time with him. You talk just like him now, all sarcasm."

Harry looked down at his hands, angrily rubbing the scars where his missing fingers had been. "Sorry," he said darkly. "I haven't had anyone much else to talk to, these past four years."

She didn't reply, and when he dared to look up at her, she was staring at him with such pity in her expression that he almost looked away again. "What?" he snapped.

"Look, you don't know what it's been _like_…"

"No I don't, because I've been locked in a cell on an island all this time - but you're acting as if I left on purpose!"

"Harry, _please_…"

He stopped. It seemed to cause her a great effort even to use his name, and she didn't seem to be able to say anything else, only put her hands over her face and rested her elbows on her knees. He felt bad for shouting at her. It just didn't seem fair that he should have to go to all this effort, just to prove who he was. To be suspected of being an impostor, when he had expected to come home to where he was _safe_, where people would welcome him with open arms and be _glad _that he was back. Sometimes it felt like he was being an inconvenience, by being alive.

"Hermione?" he said after a moment. "I'm sorry."

"No," she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry. You must feel like we've just locked you up all over again."

"Well…" Harry said, sheepishly.

"I asked Dumbledore if we could bring you to Hogwarts, instead, but he thinks its too risky. It'd be the first place they'd try."

"You don't think they'd try St Mungos?" Harry asked, surprised. That was something else that kept him awake at night. Last time they had taken him in Diagon Alley, on a Hogsmeade weekend with dozens of teachers and students around. Voldemort was stronger now, gaining more followers all the time, even if he had lost the Lestranges. What was to stop him attacking St Mungos to get at Harry?

"Our agents have put out the word that you're in Wales," Hermione explained. "And this ward is hidden by all kinds of magic. Don't think that wasn't hard to explain to the Healers, but they won't find you. I promise." She suddenly sounded fierce, determined. That was the Hermione he knew.

"Thanks," said Harry, and meant it. "What happens now, though? Neville says I'm almost well enough to leave."

She nodded. "I know. That's why I'm here. The only place with enough protections… well, I'm afraid it's 12 Grimmauld Place."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Figures." He supposed it couldn't be helped, although it did sting a bit to know he could never go back to the house in Cambridge. He had liked it there. He hoped someone was going to take care of Midge and Polly for him. But this didn't seem to be the whole story. Hermione still looked worried. "What is it?"

"Well… look, Harry, I spoke to Malfoy and I know you don't want to see Sirius, but that's where he is at the moment. It's the safest place for him, it really is, for both of you."

Harry stared at her, completely nonplussed. What was she talking about? Sirius had been dead, what, six years now? "Sirius?" he repeated, frowning.

"Oh!" She shook her head quickly, making her bushy hair fly side-to-side. "No, Harry - that's what we named the baby. Didn't anyone tell you?"

Harry felt his insides turn cold. "You _what?" _he demanded.

"Harry - "

"You named _that_ - after the man his mother _killed? _ After the man I - the only -" He couldn't form words properly, his thoughts were all fiery anger, jumbled and confused in his damaged mind. There was a sick kind of logic to it, he supposed. The baby was a Black, after all. Sirius' cousin. He thought he might throw up.

"I thought you would like it," Hermione said quietly.

"_You don't know what she did to me,_" Harry hissed. "You don't understand, I can't think about… if I think about _him_, I can't not think about - fuck, Hermione. You know how long it took to get her pregnant?"

She was staring at him with wide eyes, frightened maybe, but not of him. Of what he might say. "No," she said, with a barely perceptible shake of her head.

"Six months," he said, low. "Six months, of being dragged up to her, being forced to… " he swallowed, hard.

"Harry…"

"She found ways to make it hurt, too," Harry growled, closing his eyes and pressing against them with the heels of his hands. Of all the memories he could have been left with! Why had the good ones been ripped from his mind while the rest remained? "Don't think she made it fucking easy for me. There are spells that can make it agony, old spells, it would go on for hours, and her laughing all the time." He shuddered and flexed his maimed hand. "And then, when it finally worked, Rodolphus came down and ripped off my finger. Payment, he said, as if I ever… as if I had ever wanted…"

Hermione hadn't moved, but there were tears shining on her cheeks and her hands were bunched in her lap.

"I hope that snake _ate_ him," Harry growled. "Her too."

Deep in his mind, the treacherous part, he heard her voice, her mad voice, asking him, _"you came here to kill him, didn't you?"_ He could have done it. If he hadn't been too late, he could have done it. He hadn't even thought of the thing growing inside her as a living creature. But he knew he could never have stabbed the silver knife into the little bundle in her arms. Its life, its existence, was _his _failure.

Hermione closed her eyes for a minute, gathering herself. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "Harry, I'm so, so sorry, but the baby…"

"It's a weapon!" Harry snapped. "Haven't you been listening? It's - ."

"He _was _a weapon," Hermione corrected him, with as much patience as a teacher could muster. "They meant for him to be a weapon. But they never got him, Harry. Voldemort will never touch him. _You _have him. And you're the only family he has, don't you see? You know what it's like to be an orphan, would you wish that on your own son?"

Harry glowered at her. "He is _not _my son."

"Yes he _is_, Harry." Hermione somehow managed to look both exasperated and understanding at the same time. "You can tell that just by looking at him."

Harry stared at her helplessly.

"Just think about it," she said.


	5. Uncertainty

Ron was waiting for Hermione when she got back to Hogwarts. The school year was almost over and the castle was almost silent, students being either in exams or studying in the library or common rooms. She walked into her office to find him sitting behind her desk.

"Ron," she sighed. "You are not allowed to sit there."

"Well I'm not going to sit on the other side. It reminds me too much of being a student."

"Did you ever even come in here when Flitwick was Charms Professor? I'm seem to recall you skating under the radar in Charms."

"Skating under the what?"

She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Never mind." She was too tired to remember not to speak "Muggle" around Ron. She transfigured the other chair easily into a comfy armchair and fell into it.

"I talked to Quin," Ron said. "He says his mum sent him Howlers."

"He deserved them," Hermione said firmly.

"I took the cloak back."

Hermione turned to stare at him. "You what?"

"Harry's invisibility cloak. I let him borrow it… stupid, probably…"

"You're bloody right it was stupid!" Hermione exclaimed. Curse words felt odd in her mouth, she had not been brought up to use them, but in this case she felt the situation deserved it. "So that's how the little idiots got onto the island - I thought the story had some holes in it."

"I told him I gave it to him for sneaking to the kitchens, not for stalking his teachers onto battlegrounds," Ron said darkly. "They won't be pulling that stunt again."

"Quin is _just _like Fred and George," Hermione sighed. "He's the ringleader. William was the soul of propriety and courtesy until they joined forces, not to mention little Beth, she's a sweetheart, always reading…"

"Sounds familiar," Ron snorted.

"Shut up. That stupid cloak almost got them killed. You better give it back to Harry now before anything like that happens again."

There was a short, awkward silence.

"How was he?" Ron asked. He sounded guarded, but that was an improvement on his mood of only a few months ago.

"Better," Hermione said. "Much better. He wasn't too happy about Grimmauld Place, though."

"Oh. Because of Sirius, you think?"

She sighed. "Depends which Sirius you're talking about."

Ron frowned. "The baby? He really hates him that much?"

"He thinks he does. Or maybe it's just the idea of him. Oh Ron…" She covered her face with her hands. "The things they did to him, it's just so horrible…"

"He told you?"

"Only some. Talking about Sirius made him angry, and it just came out, I think… I can't imagine he's said anything to anyone else, even Malfoy."

Ron's expression darkened at the mention of Malfoy, but he didn't say anything.

"You do believe him, Ron, don't you?" Hermione asked him, almost pleading.

Ron frowned, his fingers twirling a quill he had picked up from her desk. "I don't know, Hermione."

"How can you not know? You've _seen_ Sirius, you've seen his eyes -"

"I know, I know. I just…" he faltered, but Hermione knew what he meant. He didn't want it to happen again. The last time, with Flint, he had almost driven himself mad with grief over losing Harry for the second time.

"The wards recognise him," Hermione reminded him gently. "Hogwarts knew who he was, even if no one else did. And there's Malfoy."

"I don't trust Malfoy," Ron said flatly.

"All right, but do you really think he would lie to us about this? They _killed _him, Ron. His own father handed him over to be killed."

"So he says."

"_Ron_…"

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I don't count Malfoy's story as evidence. And the wards can be fooled…"

"But?" Hermione prompted. She knew him too well not to know there was something else on his mind.

"Well… Lestrange. She called him Harry. So did Rodolphus and Lucius Malfoy. Why would they make that up, if they thought we were all going to die anyway?"

She nodded slowly. "So you do believe him."

He shrugged. Clearly he still hadn't made his mind up one way or the other, at least not to the point where he would make it so by saying it out loud.

"He talks differently," Hermione had to admit, almost to herself more than Ron. "He used to get moody, but now he talks like that all the time, just… bitter. I understand it, I just… I wish it didn't have to be like this. I almost… oh Ron, it sounds horrible, but I almost wish he were really dead."

He even looked surprised at that, and she felt sick to her stomach with guilt. "He suffered so much," she said, staring out of the window to the empty grounds. "He's still suffering, you can see it. And his memories may never come back, Neville says."

"At least he still remembers who _we _are," Ron said, then he hesitated. "He does remember me, right?"

"Yes. He said to say he's sorry about Jeanne."

Ron just sat there, twirling his quill. Hermione hadn't known the girl, but then, she and Ron hardly got the chance to talk anymore. She was busy with her students, he with his Auror training, and every now and then they both had tasks to do for the Order. Perhaps it had just been easier not to see each other often. They reminded each other of Harry. But now things were different, and she found it harder to talk to him than ever.

"He's coming to Grimmauld Place on Monday," Hermione said. "You should go. He'd be glad to see you."

"Would he?" Ron shook his head. "I dunno, Hermione…"

"Ron, for the last time, what happened was not your fault. It would have happened no matter how much you drank. You might as well say it was Ginny's fault because some Death Eater dressed up like her to lure Harry away."

"I should have been watching him," Ron said darkly. They had had this argument before, it was always the same tune.

"And I should have got there earlier," Hermione said. "Harry should have been more careful. Seamus shouldn't have showered you with birthday beer. We've been through this. But he's alive, Ron, and he misses you. You're his best friend."

"I think Malfoy's his new best friend," Ron muttered, sourly, and Hermione groaned inwardly.

"Ron, will you grow up? Malfoy is a ghost. Harry is a living breathing human being who _needs _his friends. So go on Monday, or give him a few days to settle in, but go. Now you can scoot on out of my office, because I have first year exam papers to mark."


	6. Graverobbing

**Hello loyal fans! For those of you reading my other stories you will know that I am busy right now with my design folio so not really sticking to the updating schedule for the next few weeks. BUT this chapter was already half-done, so consider it an extra special gift from me. We haven't had a Ron chapter in forever and ages, so here goes. **

**~*-0-*~**

When Ron Apparated to Grimmauld Place and knocked on the door of Number 12, it wasn't Lupin who answered, as he had expected, but his own mother.

"What was your teddy bear's name when you were a boy?" she asked him, before he could even ask to come in.

He rolled his eyes. "You mean the one Fred turned into a spider? I don't know, didn't I name it after a Chudley Cannon? Reggy, or something?"

Molly regarded him with narrowed eyes for a moment, then sighed. "Close enough, I suppose," she said, standing aside and letting him into the hall. "For future reference the correct answer is Rodney."

"Charming," he said. "What happens if someone comes to the door you don't know?"

"We don't answer," Molly said, as if Ron should have known this. "It's… good you're here," she added after a moment.

"Where's Lupin?" Ron asked. The man had been Number 12's only permanent resident since Sirius' death.

"Out," she said sharply. "Ginny's here, though."

"Yeah, Hermione told me."

"Poor little thing," his mother said, walking ahead of him into the kitchen and bustling around in the way he knew meant she was worried.

"Ginny?"

"No, the _child_, poor duck. Well, no one else knows more than me about babies, but I've never heard one cry as much as this one. And when he's not crying he hardly sleeps, just stares around as if he knows what he's seeing. At least he's eating now, poor child, it took your sister and I a lot of sleepless nights to make sure he didn't starve. Would you like to see him? I think Ginny's feeding him now."

Ron shifted his backpack uncomfortably. "Actually, I came to see Harry," he said, forcing the name out before he could change his mind.

Molly glanced at him surprised. "Oh? Ginny gave me the impression you wouldn't."

"Hermione…" Ron shook his head. _She bullied me into it_, probably wouldn't go down well. And anyway wasn't entirely true. He wanted to come, to see for himself, to _know _for himself. "We had a talk," he said eventually. As a matter of fact there had been a few talks since she had got back from the hospital. She had divulged some details of her conversation with Harry that he would rather not have known. "Where is he?"

"Upstairs," Molly said, and her tone was harder than Ron had expected. Normally, talking about Harry, she sounded fond, or more lately, sad. Now she seemed cross, disapproving. "He's hardly moved from his room, but that ghost of his comes and goes as he likes, if you please. He's worse than our old ghoul. Third door on the right, second floor," she said. "Lupin wanted him close… just in case. Don't go without saying goodbye, will you?"

"I won't," Ron promised. _Now or never, trainee, _he thought.

He walked slowly up the stairs and found the door his mum had described. He shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and held it loosely by the handle before taking a deep breath and knocking. There was a soft thudding noise from inside, as though someone had dropped something. A moment later, the door opened, and Ron came properly face to face with his dead best friend for the first time. _No, _he thought to himself as the shorter man stared up at him. _We were face to face for a second, in the battle. He must have known who I was, even if I didn't know him. And then he fought with me. Perhaps I should have known, then. _

"Hi Ron," the man said, after a moment or two of awkward silence.

"Hi," Ron said, too quickly, too nervous. "You er… you busy?"

The man's eyes widened slightly. "Not really. Just reading. Come in?" He made it a question, as though he didn't really expect Ron to come in, but he did.

The room looked like most of the others in Grimmauld Place. About the same size as the Gryffindor dormitories, but with a single bed, a dresser, a wardrobe, a bookcase and a desk to furnish it. The sheets and pillows had been pulled off the bed and were lying in a heap on the floor, like a nest. Ron tried not to stare but the other man saw him looking.

"Bed's too soft," he explained with a kind of apologetic grunt.

Ron nodded. "I brought you some stuff," he said, offering the backpack. "Your stuff, I mean."

"Oh." He took the pack and stared at it for a moment, as if he didn't quite know what to do with it.

"You left me some stuff in your will, remember? I never threw anything away. I thought it might help with your memory problems, you know… help you remember. And it's all yours anyway, you should have it back."

"Thanks," he said, emotionless.

Ron frowned. It was still hard to believe that the man in front of him was his friend, back from the dead. Even now he was wearing glasses - square, narrow ones, not like the old ones at all - it was hard to see Harry in his face. He was thin, dangerously so, his hair dark but dull and his dark grey eyes had nothing of the old Harry in them.

Silently the man rested the pack on the bed and unzipped it. Ron heard him gasp hoarsely as he reached into it with a shaking hand and drew out the Invisibility Cloak, the three remaining fingers on his left hand grasping at the silvery fabric.

"I never felt right, wearing it," Ron said, watching the expression on the man's face. "I gave it to my cousin and it almost got him killed. You should probably look after it from now on."

"Thank you," he said, and this time there was real gratitude in his tone. A grim smile crept across the stranger's face. "Now I can get my own back on Draco for vanishing on me all the time." He put the cloak aside and reached into the pack again, drawing out the rest of the items. He had never had a great deal of possessions, and they were mostly little unimportant things. His Sneakoscope. His chocolate frog card collection. Some Quidditch posters and a couple of Quidditch books. But it was the last item Ron was waiting for. When the man drew it out, he made a small surprised noise and sat down hard on the bed, cradling it in his hands. It was the photo album, the one with the pictures of his parents that had been Harry's most treasured possession.

"You all right?" Ron asked.

"Yeah…" he traced the cover of the album, opened it to the first page and stared at it for a while. It was the picture of James and Lily on their wedding day. "I _had _forgotten this." He closed it again and looked up at Ron. "I didn't… I mean, I don't_ think_ I left this to you in my will..."

"Er… no," Ron admitted, hoping he didn't look too guilty. "We, er… we thought Lupin should have it but he put it.. um, he put it in the grave."

"The grave?" he raised an eyebrow.

Ron sighed. "Yeah, there's a grave. We all put stuff in the coffin."

The man looked back down at the album for a moment, taking it in. "So…" he said frowning. "You got it back… how?"

Ron threw up his hands wearily. There was no point denying it. "All right, _fine_. I did a spot of graverobbing. It's not like I do it all the time, and anyway if you're not actually dead it's not disrespectful, right?"

The man made a grunting noise, and for a moment Ron thought he was going to start sobbing, but then he realised he was chuckling, a low chortle that grew steadily louder until he was holding his sides, laughing fit to bust. It was infectious: Ron had to grin, and then he started laughing too.

"Oh Merlin's great long muddy _beard_," the man breathed when the worst of the fit had passed. "I… haven't laughed like that, since… not for _years_."

Ron looked at him then, _really _looked at him, and for the first time he knew. "It really is you, isn't it," he said, sobering.

Harry smiled at him. "Yeah, Ron," he said. "It's really me."

There was a noise from outside the still-open door, and Ron saw Harry flinch. "It's all right," he said quickly. He had a better view of the doorway from where he stood. "It's just Ginny."

His sister was standing just outside the door, looking more like their mother than ever, with her arms folded stiffly across her chest. Her short-cropped hair was sticking up untidily in places and there were dark circles under her eyes. "Ron?" she said, surprised, then glanced at Harry. "What are the two of you laughing about?"

"Nothing," Ron said quickly.

"Well keep it down, will you? I just got him down for a nap."

"You look like _you_ need one," Ron said.

Ginny's eyes flashed. "Thank you _so _much, Ron," she said. "Mum says dinner will be ready soon, if you want to stay. Just keep the noise down."

She left without saying so much as a single word to Harry, who was staring uncomfortably at his knees. "You honestly don't remember her at all?" Ron asked incredulously.

Harry shook his head, slowly. "It feels like it's right there," he said. "Like when you can't quite remember, but you _know _you know it, it just won't come to you."

"But you remember me, and the twins and Bill and everyone?"

"So far." Harry looked somber now. There was no more laughter. "I forgot Hedwig too, but then… it came back. I think it might have been the Restorative potion that did that. What happened to her?" he added, looking up at Ron. "No one ever said."

"Sorry mate," Ron said. "She passed, not long after… well. That happens with familiars. They don't last long after their masters go."

Harry nodded. He turned slightly and brushed his fingers over the album cover. "I didn't think you would come," he said after a while. "Neville said you probably wouldn't."

"Eh, what does that guy know," Ron said, shrugging. "Hardly ever see him anymore, honestly. Since the war… I mean, since all this… we've all sort of grown apart. Even me and Hermione."

"Seriously?" Harry frowned. "I thought for sure you guys would be living together by now."

Ron smiled wryly. "Yeah… we tried it. Didn't work."

"Why not?"

_Because of you_, Ron thought. _Because every time we looked at each other we remembered that you weren't there. _Somehow he didn't think this answer would make Harry feel any better.

"It just didn't," he said instead. "You want dinner then?"

Harry hesitated. He seemed to hesitate before almost everything, as though he needed a second to weigh up every minor decision. Then he nodded. "I can never turn down your mum's cooking," he said, a shy smile that was much more like the old Harry coming suddenly to his lips.

They went down to the kitchen together. Ginny was already sitting at the table, looking wearier than ever, and Molly was putting a plate of food in front of her. She looked up when they came in, then looked quickly back down at her dinner.

"How are you feeling today, Harry?" Molly asked as they sat down.

"Good," Harry muttered, not meeting her eyes.

_Well isn't this just a happy family situation_, Ron thought, sighing inwardly. "Thanks Mum," he said as she passed him a plate, then swore and dropped his fork as something icy cold brushed the back of his neck.

"Sorry Weasley," said a familiar, drawling voice from behind him. "Didn't realise you were sitting there."

Malfoy was standing - floating - by the stove, grinning that sardonic little grin that made Ron want to punch him in the mouth. It didn't help knowing that to do so would result in nothing more than a cold fist and loss of pride. _You are an Auror_, he told himself firmly. _Or close enough, anyway. Do not rise to the bait. _"Malfoy," he muttered, picking up his spoon again with as much self control as he could muster. To his satisfaction, Malfoy looked surprised.

"Don't sneak up on people like that," Harry told him firmly.

"I'm a ghost, Potter, it's what I _do_. I didn't mean to interrupt this touching reunion -"

"Where've you been, anyway?" Harry demanded.

"None of your business. I'm haunting _you_, remember, you don't get to decide when I show up." He looked around, and only then did he seem to notice Ginny. "Is Lupin back?" he demanded.

"No," Ginny told him shortly.

"Who's with the child, then?"

"No one. He's asleep."

"No one?" Malfoy repeated, furiously. "I told you not to leave him alone!"

"Watch your tone, Malfoy," Ron snarled, unable to help himself.

Malfoy gave him a sneering look. "Or what, you'll exorcise me? Your Latin isn't nearly good enough."

"He's sleeping, Malfoy, and I have to eat," Ginny said, interrupting what had promised to be a fun argument. "And sleep too, if that's all right with you."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll babysit, since I have to do neither. Someone just better relieve me before I wither with boredom." And with that, he shot straight through the ceiling.

**~*-0-*~**

**So guys if anyone wants to do a fanart for the cover of this fic, or for Still Alive or both… I would not say no. There are just not enough hours in the day. Next update soon. It's a tearjerker but I think you'll like it.**


	7. Sorry

"Git," Ron muttered after the ghostly form of Draco Malfoy had vanished through the ceiling.

Harry sighed and went back to his food. He had little appetite these days, but he knew better than to turn down food when it was offered him. He still treated every meal as though it might be snatched away at any moment. And Molly's cooking never failed to make him hungry once he started eating it. The food was delicious, warming him from the inside out. If only she would give him a warm look. It seemed as though there was disappointment in her eyes whenever they exchanged glances, and Ginny was the same, though she was sadder, or angrier by turns. He knew what he would have to do to appease Molly, but Ginny was an entirely different matter.

"He's convinced someone's going to kidnap Sirius," Ginny explained to Ron while Harry did his best to close his hearing to the conversation.

"In this place? With the foolproof random trivia protection you have in place?"

"Ron," Molly said sternly. "You know full well that no Death Eaters could get into this house. And if they did, I should _hope_," she added with a narrowed glance at Harry, "everyone here would fight to protect him."

"What good can Malfoy do?" Ron said. "He's dead."

"He can shout to wake his fellow dead from the grave," Ginny said darkly. "Like in the middle of the night when some of us are trying to_ sleep_."

"Ginny is doing a fantastic job of caring for the little one," Molly said proudly. "Like she was born to it."

Ginny reddened. Harry knew that she had not asked for this duty. Caring for a three month old had clearly not been what she'd had in mind when she'd agreed to join the Order. But it was true that no one in the house slept much. Harry found sleeping hard enough already, without listening to the high-pitched wailing all night. He hated it. It had only been three days, but already it ricocheted around his head constantly even when he wasn't hearing it, and whenever he closed his eyes it seemed he could hear his own voice screaming right along with it.

At least Ginny had only tried once where Hermione had failed.

"Why won't you just _hold _him?" she had demanded, her face reddening to match her hair, an hour after he had arrived from St. Mungos and the slamming of the front door had set the boy to screaming. "You're his _dad_."

"He doesn't want me," Harry had snapped, angry at this stranger who presumed to intrude upon the hardest thing in his life as though she had a right.

"How do you know? Have you asked him? He looks _just _like you Harry, if you'd only _look _at him…"

But he had escaped to his room and slammed the door behind him, and she hadn't spoken to him about it again. But he saw it in her eyes, and Molly's. They were ashamed of him.

_He doesn't look like me. He looks like I used to look. I don't need to be reminded of that. _

But that wasn't the reason, and they all knew it.

His hand tightened into a fist around his knife, and a stab of pain went through his left hand. The little finger, the one Bellatrix had taken years ago, hardly ever troubled him anymore. But even after all the St Mungos healers could do, the ring finger still ached and throbbed and tingled, a ghostly sensation where a finger had used to be, before Rodolphus Lestrange had taken it as _payment_ for his wife. The knife slipped and fell, splattering stew over the clean white tablecloth. "Sorry!" he said quickly, flinching. "Sorry, Molly." _Calm down_, he told himself firmly. _No one's going to punish you. _

"That's all right, Harry dear." Ron's mother flicked her wand at the stain, cleaning it away. Ron was watching him warily, eyes flickering between his ruined hand and his changed face.

_Will he always watch me like that? _Harry wondered, picking up his knife again between first and middle finger with determination. _Like I could turn on him any second. Will he always wonder? _

"Well," Ginny said when the meal was done. "I better go help Draco." Harry saw Ron twitch. "Want to come, Ron?"

Ron glanced at Harry, curiosity clearly outweighed by his dislike of the ghost. "Yeah, all right."

"I'll help with the dishes, Molly," Harry said quickly, before Ron could invite him to come, too.

"No need, dear," Molly said stiffly as Ron got up to follow Ginny out of the kitchen. Harry didn't blame her, knives were one thing, the Black family china was another. Harry had already broken a plate since he had arrived, and such things were apparently hard to put back together. Harry fled.

He sat on his bed for what seemed like hours, holding the photo album. He had never thought to see it again. Hadn't even considered that it might be still floating around somewhere. Only his wand would have been better, and he knew that was gone forever.

_Graverobbing_, he thought, a smile coming suddenly to his lips. Trust Ron. The last person in the world Harry had expected to show up with a bag of Harry's old possessions, and he had dug up Harry's grave to get them. Clearly he didn't know his friend as well as he thought. But then, a lot could change in four years. He knew _he _had. Draco had, death not withstanding. There were noticeable changes in Hermione and Neville, too. Lupin… well, Remus was a different matter altogether.

He turned a page and found himself looking down at what had once been one of his favourite photographs. His parents, standing together, his father's arm around his mother's shoulders, and his mother holding a black-haired, green-eyed baby.

He rubbed his scar and put the photo album aside. It twinged, but it always did that now, and it was more of an annoyance than an actual hurt. Every now and then it blazed with pain, but even that seemed more bearable than it had before Ynys Addoed. Maybe he was just more used to pain now.

"Harry?"

Ron was at the door. He always left it ajar, or open, so people couldn't sneak up on him, or maybe so he always had an escape route, he wasn't sure. Maybe he just didn't like the feeling of being closed in. "Hey," he said. His voice came out smaller than he had intended.

"I'm going home, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay." He looked back at his lap, his hands folded in it, the maimed one inside the whole.

Ron took a step inside the room. "Harry…"

Harry knew what was coming. He didn't want to hear it, but he couldn't tell Ron that, _wouldn't _tell Ron that, not when Ron had come, after weeks of thinking he never would. "I should see him." He looked up at the boy in the doorway - no, not a boy, a man, but Ron was only a little older than him and he had trouble thinking of himself as a man, still. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

Ron's face was very serious. Not angry, just serious, the way he had used to get when talking about the war, or a particularly important game of Quidditch. "Harry, I know how you feel about this…"

"No you don't."

"Yes I _do_. Hermione told me."

Harry flinched, a flicker of rage kindling in his stomach before he forced it away. Of course she had told him. She wouldn't think of it as a betrayal of trust. Ron was Harry's friend too, after all. "I'm sorry," Ron said, before Harry could protest further. "I am, Harry, I'm sorry for what they did to you. I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry…" his freckled face went pale and suddenly he couldn't _quite _meet Harry's eyes. "I'm sorry I let them take you."

Harry stood up, frowning. "What?"

"I was drunk… they took you from right under my nose and I didn't even… I just wanted you to know…"

Harry shook his head. "Ron, I don't even remember what happened that day. I don't blame you, or anything."

Relief flickered across Ron's face. "Oh. Good." Then he hesitated. "You don't blame me, but… you blame Sirius? Little Sirius, I mean, for what -"

"No!" Harry shook his head. "I'm not crazy, I know he's not to blame, he's just a baby…"

"But you do hate him."

Harry swallowed. He couldn't deny that, as much as he would like to. He didn't have to say it, though.

"Harry, I don't think you should see him because Mum wants you to, or me, or Ginny, or anyone. We're not asking you to raise him, even look after him. No one expects you to accept that. But I think you should see him… for you."

Harry wished Draco was there. Draco never tried to guilt him into things, couldn't bring any bloody _moral _argument to bear if his life - no pun intended - depended on it.

"What do you expect me to see?" Harry asked, sinking back onto the bed and lowering his head into his hands.

"I don't know. What do _you_ expect to see?"

_Failure_, he thought, his scar tingling under his fingers.

_An abomination. The son of a murderess, with my hair and my eyes, but his mother's voice, his mother's screaming voice. The child I tried to kill. The child who was meant to kill me. The child whose mother and mother's husband I murdered. My failure. The last living Lestrange, one of the few remaining Blacks. Sirius' cousin. The pain and fear and horror of the last four years made flesh, made human. An innocent who has no idea what I have done, what pain I have caused him, what pain his life will hold. What I did… what _I _did… _

_I know what it's like to be unwanted. I know what it's like to have my only living relatives hate me for something I didn't even do. For something I couldn't help. Is this how Uncle Vernon felt, every time he had to look at me? The dark blotch on his perfect life? Not that anything could darken mine any more than it is. What am I doing? Condemming him to a childhood like mine? A life like mine, a life of running? They won't stop looking for him. They need me dead. _

_And if they get him… it'll take years, but they could do it. Turn him into a weapon, teach him to fight from the instant he could hold a wand. Hurt him, torture him to keep him in line. Make him hard and unbreakable, a stone wizard warrior trained to do one thing and one thing only. _

When he looked up, hours later it seemed, Ron had gone, and it was dark. The house was quiet, even silent. It seemed like an age since it had been so quiet, but he knew he would never sleep now. He got up and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He knew where the room was. Top floor, as far away from all the entrances as possible. The stairs were an effort. He was still not strong, even after three months of recovery, and every muscle in his legs burned with each step.

The wards around the room were spelled to recognise him, though he'd never tried them before. He felt a sort of warm tingle as he walked through them but no alarms rang, no spelled cage came crashing down. That was a small relief.

Draco was lying on the ceiling, a pulsating silver light in the darkness. He stirred when Harry entered. "Harry?"

"Thought you were back to calling me 'Potter' now?"

The ghost rolled his eyes. "That was just to annoy Weasley and you know it. Didn't think to see you up here tonight." _Or ever_, was the unspoken additive.

"Could you… give me a minute?" Harry asked.

Draco looked at him sidelong. "You aren't going to smother him or anything, are you? Yeah, yeah, all right," he added at Harry's look. "Mother Weasley is more likely to smother a sleeping baby than you. Just call if you need me." He melted into the wall, to wherever he went when he wasn't around. Without him it was a lot darker, the only light coming through the tiny slit in the curtains. Harry went to them and opened them a little more, looking up for a moment at the full moon floating above the city. A very clear sky tonight, for London. He wondered how Lupin was, wherever he was. He certainly hadn't looked good for the last few days. He moved like an old man and seemed to find it hard to even look at Harry let alone talk to him. He did it, though. He was nothing if not good at pushing though suffering.

Harry took a deep breath and turned away from the window. The crib was pushed into a corner, protected by even more warding spells. The only thing he'd ever seen so fiercely protected by magic was probably the Philosopher's Stone. _Eternal life_, he thought ruefully as he took the last few steps. _If only I'd known back then. I hope Neville's right about old age not counting. I really don't want to live forever. _

He looked into the crib. He wasn't sure what he had expected. It was a baby, pink-faced and dark-haired, mouth slightly open in sleep, arms and legs spread-eagled to either side. Someone had found it some clothes, no doubt Weasley hand-me-downs, a handmade onesie with embroidered snitches and broomsticks. It seemed very still, so much so that Harry almost started to panic, until he saw the slight rise and fall of the tiny chest, almost imperceptible. Was this truly what he had been so afraid of? Without really realising what he was doing, he let his hand slide over the edge of the crib and drift towards the tiny body.

Then he snatched his hand back as the babe's eyes snapped open. Those eyes, impossibly green and huge on that tiny face, stared up at him and he thought for sure it was going to start wailing and bring the whole house down on him. He considered making a run for it, but the child never cried, only stared up at him as though he could see, as though he could understand.

Harry could neither move, nor hardly breathe. _I was wrong_, he realised with a jolt to his heart. _There's nothing of her in him. _This was the child from the photo album, the child his mother had held up to the camera. _I was wrong. _

He let his hand drift back into the crib, his fingers trembling slightly. The boy reached up and caught one of them, still without making a single sound. _You were conceived in pain and born in blood, _Harry thought, his gut twisting with some terrible emotion as the doll-like hand tightened around his finger. _I killed your mother minutes after you were born. She was trying to save you, like my mother tried to save me. _

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice eerily loud in the silence of the room.

_She did spells to make sure you were born. I heard her doing them. She was ordered to create you, but she didn't want you. I didn't want you. Even Voldemort only wanted you as a thing, something to use. At least I know my parents loved me for a year before they died. _

"I'm sorry," he said again, and this time there were hot tears in his eyes, steaming up his glasses, running down his cheeks. One of them fell onto the child's snitch-embroidered onesie, but still he only stared, with eyes so innocent and trusting Harry wanted to break down on the floor and never get up ever again, but he couldn't, didn't want to break free of the tiny little hand. His son's hand. "I'm _sorry_," he said again, into the silent night.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please check out my new fanfiction blog, misssaigonfic. tumblr. com (remove spaces).

All comments are highly valued and very much appreciated!


	8. The Morning After

Ginny found him there the next morning, curled up on the floor beside the cot. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well. He didn't mind the floor, it was easier than his bed, which was far too soft after years sleeping on stone. He didn't even lash out when Ginny shook him gently awake, but opened his eyes slowly to look up at her.

"Morning," she said, smiling faintly.

"Hm?" he sat up and rubbed the back of his head. Memories of the previous night started flooding in, each one a new embarrassment. "Er…"

"You don't have to explain," Ginny said, giving him a hand to help him to his feet. "I knew you'd crack eventually." The smile she gave him was so much more genuine than anything she had offered him so far that he couldn't help but smile back. She turned away from him and leant over the cot. Sirius had woken up and was making gurgling noises. "You had a good sleep, didn't you?" she said, picking him up. "I couldn't believe my luck when I woke up and it was daylight." She gave Harry a knowing look. "Told you he'd feel better if you were around."

"He's a baby," Harry said. "He doesn't know who I am."

"And you're the expert on babies, are you?" Ginny said, raising an imperious eyebrow. "You want to feed him?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "You hold him and give him a bottle. It's not hard."

Harry let himself be ushered into a chair and a cushion arranged on his lap. When Ginny lowered the baby into his arms he _almost _panicked, but managed to keep his act together. _You owe him this, _he thought. _You owe him at least this much. _Ginny showed him how to hold the bottle, and he watched in fascination as the little creature seemed to chug down almost the entire thing without taking a breath.

"You're a natural," Ginny said, and though Harry wasn't quite sure whether or not she was sincere, it made him feel slightly better.

"Do you have… children?" he asked her.

She looked surprised. "No. A few younger cousins."

"Have I met them?"

She frowned at him. "I don't think so."

"Oh." He shifted his arm slightly where it was going numb. For something small enough to be cradled in one arm, the child was unexpectedly heavy after a while. "When did you join the Order?"

"About three months ago," Ginny said dryly. "When they said they needed someone to look after a baby. Mum can't stay here forever, and I wasn't really getting much done at the _Prophet_."

"You worked for the _paper_?" Harry grimaced. He might not remember everything, but he remembered hating the _Prophet _and all it stood for.

"I had an idea about taking it down from the inside," Ginny sighed. "There are You-Know-Who supporters all over the Ministry now, even if they're not exactly Death Eaters. Me and Colin fancied ourselves a journalist crime-fighting team."

"Oh, so you and Colin -"

"No," Ginny sighed. "There was never any 'me and Colin'. Though he might try and _tell _you there was. Well, we lived together but it was just because it was close to work and -"

"I was just going to say," Harry interrupted. "You and Colin worked together."

Ginny flushed. For a moment Harry had a vision of her, looking younger with her hair long, blushing red in that same adorable way. Then it was gone, as soon as it had come. "Oh. Well, yeah. I wasn't really officially Order then, but I guess I am now." She wrinkled her nose, and Harry suddenly became aware of an earthy smell in the air. "I better change him," she said, scooping Sirius up out of Harry's arms. "I won't subject you to that just yet. You might try to run away."

"I won't," Harry said. "I swear."

Ginny smiled. "I was joking, Harry, but that's good to know."

The Order had a meeting about a week after that. Harry wasn't invited, and he didn't much care. Draco was inclined to make a fuss, however.

"You're more important than all of them put together," the ghost sneered, pacing restlessly an inch above the floor of the nursery. Harry was on baby-watch while Ginny and the others were shut up in the living room. He was trying to read, but more than a few minutes at a time made his head ache. He wondered if it was the new glasses.

"I wouldn't be any help, anyway," he said, putting the book to one side. "What do I know about fighting Voldemort? They've all been doing it while I've been…"

"That's not the point," Draco muttered, ignoring the uncomfortable non-end to that sentence. "You know this means they still don't trust you."

"Why should they? I lied to them. Maybe I should have just told them who I was from the start."

"Like I told you to, you mean."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, you were right. Will you stop pacing, you're making my head spin."

Draco sneered and floated up to sit on the edge of the cot. Sirius laughed and clapped his hands clumsily. "I don't like it," Draco muttered.

"Yeah, I _know_. Enough already."

"Not that. It's too quiet. No visions, nothing?"

"Nothing. My scar twinges a bit, but it always does that."

"See? It's too damn quiet. They're planning something."

"The Order?"

"No, you idiot. _His _lot."

There was a silence for a while. On this subject they didn't really need to speak.

"Let them," Harry decided eventually. "We're safe now."

Draco gave him an incongruous look.

"You know what I mean. Why are you so keen for something to happen, anyway? You've got all the time in the world."

"That's the _point_, I…"

Harry frowned and squinted at him. "Draco? Is something -"

Just then there was a noise from downstairs, the silencing spell being taken down as the Order meeting broke up. Harry was about to ask again, but Draco shook his head and shot out through the wall.

Harry shook his head and picked up the baby. He was getting good at it now - at least, he was no longer terrified of dropping him. "Let's go meet my friends," he said, propping the boy up against his chest with one arm as he opened the door with the other. The Order was congregating in the kitchen and in the hall, some carrying on private conversations. He didn't recognise all of them. The Order had grown considerably in four years, and he hoped that was all it was. He would hate to find out that he forgotten more important people.

Ginny came hurrying over as he reached the foot of the stairs. "Is he all right?" she asked anxiously. "Did he cry? Does he need changing?"

"He's fine," Harry said, resisting Ginny's attempts to whisk his son out of his arms. "No need to fuss over us."

"I wasn't," Ginny said defensively, a slight redness in her cheeks as she pulled her hand back.

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "He looks just -"

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed. Sirius' bright green eyes still gave him the shivers on occasion. It wasn't the boy's fault, of course, and neither was the shock of dark hair that just seemed to keep growing, but he couldn't help seeing flashes of his old, innocent self in them that made his stomach twist with anxiety. "I guess genes win out over physical changes brought on by… well, dying."

"Harry," Hermione scolded, without much feeling. "Can I hold him?"

Harry gave his son over with reluctance. Somehow, he had gone from wishing the child out of existence to not wanting him out of his sight. Over Hermione's shoulder he could see Snape looking at them with a blank, unreadable expression. He was about to go over there, but Ginny shook her head. "I wouldn't," she said warningly.

"What? Why?" Harry asked.

"Zabini's missing," said Ron, coming up behind him. "Presumed captured."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.

"What?"

"I think you just told me an Order secret," Harry said, absent-mindedly, frowning. Zabini gone? He was one of Snape's few remaining spies, he knew.

"Oh come on Hermione, Harry deserves to know."

"Did he know where we are?" Harry asked flatly.

They all looked at him nervously.

"Did he know?" Harry demanded.

After another brief moment of hesitation, Hermione sighed. "We're… not sure," she said. "He was helping take care of the prisoners we got out of Ynys Addoed. I don't think he could have known about Grimmauld Place, but…"

"But what?" Harry was fighting back the urge to snatch Sirius back and run for the hills.

"He might have known that you and Sirius were together," Hermione said.

"Well I'm not leaving him!"

"We know," Ginny said softly, putting a hand on his arm. He flinched, and she pulled away, looking disappointed. "We know you won't. We aren't asking you to."

"Then what are you -"

"Harry, this is Order business," Hermione said firmly. "I promise we're doing everything we can, but the less you know, the safer you are."

"The safer _you _are, you mean," Harry growled. "Draco was right. It's too quiet. He thinks they're planning something, and maybe it has something to do with Blaise."

"I should have known the three of you would be incapable of keeping your mouths shut."

Harry did not flinch this time. He was quite proud of that. "Snape."

"Potter. Glad to see you on your feet."

Harry turned to look up into the sour, beak-nosed face. He hadn't spoken to the man since he had been masquerading as Mr Jenson. Awkward.

Snape frowned at him, glaring searchingly into Harry's eyes. Harry wondered what he was looking for. "Is it true?" Harry asked. "They got Zabini?"

There wasn't even so much as a flicker in Snape's eyes, but the edge of his lip twitched just slightly. "You would do best to keep your nose out of -"

"Draco's gonna be pissed," Harry shot in. This time there _was _a flicker. "They were friends. You keep losing people like this you're not going to have any spies left."

Snape's face contorted with anger. When he was twelve that probably would have terrified Harry, but he had lived through much scarier things than Severus Snape since then. "How dare you," the man snarled. "You know nothing of the danger - the skill required, the risk -"

"_I know nothing of the danger?" _Harry growled back. "I think I'm pretty well versed in danger by now, don't you?"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed warningly, and Sirius began to cry in her arms.

"You have other things to occupy your mind than _my _work," Snape muttered. "I suggest you stay out of the way." He turned on his heel and stormed out with a dramatic twirl of his cloak.

"Great, now you've set him off," Ron muttered as Ginny took Sirius from a suddenly very relieved Hermione and took him quickly into the dining room. "He was just starting to get bearable, too."

"Snape? Bearable?" Harry snorted. "You _have _changed."

"He grew up, which is more than I can say for some people," Hermione muttered.

Harry didn't think that was worth dignifying with a response, so he merely glared.

"Leave him alone, Hermione," Ron said. "Its not his fault."

Harry couldn't help but give Ron a confused look. Four years really _was _a long time. Still, he felt better for a fight with Snape. It made him feel like at least some things were right with the world.


	9. Just William

Hermione and Ron stayed for dinner and so, to Harry's surprise and trepidation, did Dumbledore. The old man denied that this had anything to do with the news that Voldemort had captured an Order spy. "I merely wish to sample Molly's excellent cooking!" he announced cheerfully. "And there are a few things I need to talk to Remus about."

Lupin nodded. The man had come back from the last full moon looking even more ragged than ever, and was only just starting to behave quite like himself again. Lupin was one of those people of whom Harry's memories were a bit fuzzy, if he was honest with himself, but he was sure the man had _smiled _occasionally.

Harry didn't pay much attention to the dinner. It was hard to pay attention to anything when he was constantly listening, waiting. His whole body seemed to be on edge. Sirius was upstairs having a nap while Draco watched over him, but somehow that didn't make him feel any better. His hand started to ache as it always did when he was angry or nervous. He rubbed the stumps of his fingers and tried to eat while letting the conversation wash over him.

"...opened the cupboard and there were four or five first years just sitting there," Hermione was saying. "No one seems to have any idea how long they were - don't laugh, Ron!"

"I'm sorry!" Ron spluttered. "I was picturing it!"

"Those children will crawl into the darndest places," Ginny said, grinning impishly.

It was a safe conversation, free of any mention of the Order or Voldemort. Such subjects were not generally mentioned at the dinner table, for secrecy, or perhaps just because it was easier not to think about those things for a time. Harry privately thought it must be nice to have that luxury.

"Thank heaven there are only two more days left of term," Hermione sighed.

"Uh oh," Ron said, his eyes widening. "Hermione wants school to be over. Look out, universe must be ending."

"Shut up, Ron."

"Now now Hermione, that's not very Professorly language." Ron glanced up at Harry, perhaps hoping he might join in the inane banter. Harry could only manage a weak smile in return.

o-*-0-*-o

As soon as dinner was over, Harry excused himself in the hope of a few quiet hours with his son, but Ron got up and followed him. "You all right?" his friend asked as they trudged single file up the stairs. The pace was excruciatingly slow, but Harry still had trouble with stairs, particularly in Grimmauld Place where it was _all _stairs.

"Fine," Harry muttered, absent-mindedly.

"Mmhmm. Don't think we didn't notice how much you didn't eat."

Harry sighed and hauled himself onto the top floor landing with difficulty. "I wasn't hungry."

"Uh huh. Okay."

"I wasn't, Ron."

"I said, okay."

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to Sirius' room. He felt the warm tingle of the wards as he passed through them, and wondered how difficult it would really be for Voldemort to break them. The man could make a whole island invisible. A few wards around a baby's room… would it really present that much of a challenge?

Draco was perching on the edge of the crib, muttering. "What's the matter?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Hm?" Draco blinked owlishly, looking up at them as if he hadn't heard them enter. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking."

"You know who talks to himself like that?" Ron said cheerfully. "Peeves."

Draco scowled. "Don't even compare me to that pathetic poltergeist -"

"Hush," Harry said, low, and bent over the crib. Sirius made a soft snuffling noise in his sleep. Since Harry's first visit, there hadn't been nearly as much wailing.

Draco was staring at him. "Did you just _hush _me?" he demanded.

"You heard him, Malfoy." Ron grinned.

"Weasley, I swear, if you -"

"Both of you," Harry snapped, in a half-whisper. "If you have to bicker, kindly go do it somewhere else. Actually - " he paused and stood up. "Ron, I have to talk to Draco about something," he said, only somewhat apologetically. "Do you mind?"

Ron frowned. "Well. Okay then. Come find me later, all right?"

Harry nodded and turned back to the crib. As the door closed, Draco floated around to the other side, looking curious. "What's up?"

Harry watched Sirius' tiny face for a moment, letting that image sink into his mind, willing it to fill the empty places. He had more or less decided that all he could do about his lost memories was replace them with new ones.

Then he looked up. "That look on your face, before. Did someone tell you?"

Draco made a face. "Oh, fine. I was going to tell you… I just figured you'd get all noble Gryffindor on me and try to figure out a way to stop it. I'd much rather you didn't, though."

Harry frowned. "Um… what are you talking about?"

"What are _you _talking about?"

"Blaise."

Draco's expression suddenly went dangerous. "What about Blaise?"

"He's missing."

"_What?_"

"I told Snape you'd freak."

"_Fuck_." Draco took a step back into thin air and ran a hand through his blood-streaked silver hair. "You know where he probably is, don't you?"

Harry nodded grimly. "They - we - didn't leave anyone behind to guard the place, did we? Voldemort's probably moved the whole island by now."

"Fuck," Draco repeated. He looked like he had the sincere urge to punch something. He started pacing up and down the nursery. "Times like this," he muttered angrily to himself. "Times like _this_, I really wish I wasn't fucking _dead_."

Harry resisted the urge to tell him to watch his mouth around the baby. He had a feeling it probably wouldn't go down well. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "If I was better…"

"Well you aren't," Draco snarled. "And there's no way I'll get that far on my own. Bloody buggering hell."

"You probably wouldn't be able to do anything, anyway," Harry said. He had hoped this would be comforting, but the ghost gave him a glare worthy of his father before the madness had set in.

"Thanks, Potter."

"I just meant -"

"I know what you meant." Draco shook his head angrily, his hair falling forward into his eyes. It made him look even worse than usual. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry. He, Harry, was healing, had whole clothes borrowed from Ron's old wardrobe, and was able to look, for all intents and purposes, like a normal human being, if one suffering from a slight lurgy. Draco was stuck forever looking the way he had in his last moments of life - bloody, torn and bedraggled. Harry knew it was the last thing that Draco - prim, proud Draco - could have ever wanted for himself. But that was beside the point, wasn't it? Harry shook his head. He wished his head would stop taking him places he'd rather not go.

"So…" he said, when the awkward silence had stretched to almost breaking point. "What were you going to tell me?"

"Never mind." Draco did not even look up but walked over to the wall that faced the outside of the house. "I'm going to go haunt the garden for a while. Can you handle things here?"

Harry glanced down at Sirius' still sleeping form. "I suppose so. But what -"

"Right. Don't leave him alone."

Harry sighed. "I _know, _Draco."

Without the slight luminescence given off by Draco's ghostly presence, it was a few degrees darker. It couldn't be any later than seven o'clock, he thought, but he went and closed the curtains anyway. He sat down in the armchair and pulled his feet up over the arm, gazing up at his own shadow on the wall. Lost in his jumbled thoughts, he forgot entirely what Ron had said about coming to find him.

o-*-0-*-o

William had been a werewolf since the age of eight. The Muggle man who had bitten him - Thomas, his name was - hadn't meant to hurt him, but had broken out of the cage he had designed for himself and had been unable to control his impulses. William could understand that, as much as he wanted to hate the man for ruining his life forever. Thomas had later taken his own life.

_Thank Merlin for Hogwarts_, William often told himself, _and thank Merlin for the Snape and the Wolfsbane potion. _He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be a werewolf _and _a Muggle, with no idea what was happening to you. The first month after his bite, the man called Lupin had come to his parents house and patiently explained what was going to happen to their son. William had been too young to understand at the time, but now knew he was lucky that his mum and dad hadn't thrown him out of the house at once. Since then, he had spent full moons wherever Lupin happened to be, both of them on Wolfsbane, curled up together in a cage somewhere. Lupin always made sure there was a cage, or at the very least a locked door, in case of accident. There had been a few occasions when the potion had not been as strong as usual, and William had found himself lashing out at the older wolf. Luckily Lupin had a lot more practice at self control, and usually managed to bat the pup into submission without causing too much damage. William knew how lucky he was, when he watched Lupin dress after a transformation, his skin littered with scars, his body visibly stiffer and stiffer with every passing moon.

It was surprisingly easy to keep his 'furry little problem' secret, as well. When you were William, no one really paid much attention to you, so it was easy to feign a night in the hospital wing every now and then, with a couple extras during the new moon so as not to arouse suspicion. It had become somewhat trickier since he had made real friends, but there had been the whole Jensen thing. This did not stop Quin from berating himself for his lack of observational skills, however.

"But its so _obvious _now," he whined, while William was trying to read the latest _Julian Fischer_. The train car rattled cheerfully as they neared London. "I just can't believe I never cottoned on. Are you sure it's been all three years?"

"I was eight," William muttered. He really wished the redheaded menace would stop talking about it. While he might not have had it quite as bad at Lupin, who had been transforming 'cold' since the age of four, the sensation he experienced twice a month of having his skin ripped apart and turned inside out as his body contorted into another shape was still no laughing matter. "I think I'd remember. Can we shut up about it now or do you want the whole train to know?"

Beth reached over and put a hand on his knee. The girl had changed, William thought, from the timid, pudgy Beth Green who had come to Hogwarts at the start of the year. Since being released from the hospital wing last March, she had become for the most part, much more lively, and even smiled more. Both her and Quin were friendlier in general, William thought. Perhaps it had something to do with the near-death experience, but he preferred to think it was his own mature influence.

"But how come you have to stay with him?" Quin asked, refusing to change the subject. "You usually go home, don't you?"

"Yeah," William nodded, letting _Julian Fischer _drop into his lap with his index finger to mark the place. "But Dumbledore wants me staying with Lupin this summer. Dunno why, but Mum and Dad said it was okay, so." He shrugged. It was a little annoying that his parents hadn't put up more of a fight, but then, he knew what a burden his condition put on them during the holidays. Some of their wizarding neighbours were not quite so unobservant as the Gryffindor third years.

Lupin was there, waiting for him at Kings Cross station. "Hello sir," William said, a little apprehensively. He and Lupin usually got on well, but recent events had strained their relationship somewhat. William had been told to keep his head down, and apparently stalking a Magical Law Enforcement mission onto a magical Dark Wizard prison island was very much against the rules. He had known that, though, and he had still done it. From William's point of view, it wasn't as though he could take it back, now.

"Mr Ross," Lupin said. "How were your exams?"

"Fine thanks," William muttered. Beth and Quin had come up on either side of him, dragging their trunks.

"Bye then mate," Quin said, patting him on the shoulder. "See you next year."

"Stay out of trouble," William told him firmly.

"I make no promises," Quin laughed, hugged Beth around the shoulders, and wandered off to where his parents - both as redheaded as he was - were waiting.

Beth grabbed William and squeezed him around the middle. "Bye," she said softly. "Be careful, all right?"

"You too," William said, and meant it. Being a Muggleborn was almost as dangerous as being a werewolf, these days. He knew some of Beth's family had already been killed by marauding Death Eaters.

"It's nice to see you making some friends," Lupin said as they walked out of the station with William's trunk on a trolley. "Even if I disapprove of what the three of you have been getting up to…"

"We haven't done anything _recently_," William protested. "Beth and I are mostly keeping Quin in line."

Lupin nodded. "Glad to hear it."

There was a pause in the conversation as Lupin helped him load the trunk into an old, battered-down car. Then, when he was sitting in the passenger seat with the ratty old seatbelt tightly fastened around his waist, looking out of the window at the scenery dashing past, he took a deep breath. "I told them," he said, quietly.

Lupin glanced over at him, surprised, before turning back to the road. "Oh?" he said after a moment.

"Well… I sort of had to. They both saw me hit with the Killing Curse." He linked his fingers and shuffled back in his seat. "I don't mind, though."

"Don't you?"

"No. They've been great about it. Except Quin asking too many questions, as usual."

He saw Lupin's lips curl into a half-smile. William thought he could count the number of times he had seen Lupin smile on one hand. "Then you're lucky to have them," he said, almost inaudibly.

William nodded, though, with Lupin looking out at the traffic, he wasn't sure the man saw. "So… where are we going?" he asked.

"Somewhere safe," Lupin replied shortly. "I'll explain when we get there."


	10. Number Twelve

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was not what William had expected. He had imagined Lupin's place as much smaller; a quaint little cottage somewhere, perhaps, with rooms filled with bookshelves of dusty old tomes and a heavily fortified basement. Certainly plenty of peace and quiet, anyway. Number twelve appeared to have at least four floors, and there were signs of other people living there - the first of which being a high-pitched infantile wailing almost as soon as they had crossed the threshold.

There was no key to the door but a series of intricate charms that Lupin performed with expert accuracy. The door clicked ominously shut behind them while the insistent crying grew even louder. William resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears.

"I've got it!" someone shouted from upstairs, and there were running footsteps

William turned to stare up at Lupin. If the man had a family, he had never mentioned them. You'd think something as life-changing as a newborn child - grandchild? Just how old was Lupin, anyway? - would have come up in conversation.

Lupin, however, showed no sign that he even heard the crying. He took William by the shoulder and steered him into the kitchen, where he began to make tea while William sat and stared around at the pots and pans all fastidiously lined up on the shelves.

"Mum, is that - oh, hi Remus." There was a young woman standing in the doorway, with a pixie haircut as Weasley-red as Quin's. "I thought you might be Mum coming back. I think she might have forgotten about us."

"I doubt that very much," Lupin said, in his usual soft tones. "I expect she wants to spend more time with your father."

The girl sighed. "Yeah, poor Dad. Must be lonely in the Burrow all by himself. Shame it's too risky for him to come here, what with him having to go to and fro from work all the time." She turned to look at William, a friendly smile coming across her face. "Hi," she said cheerfully.

"Hi," said William.

"You must be William. Nice to meet you finally - I'm Ginny. I'm a cousin of your friend Quin's - Ron's sister. Oh, cheers, Remus." The girl sighed with relief as Lupin put three cups of tea on the table and sank into a chair. "You're a lifesaver. Sirius has been fussy all last night and all day today." She rubbed at her eyes. "How Mum did this seven times is beyond me."

Lupin sat down in an available chair and nursed his tea between his hands. There were dozens of visible scars on them, William could see, and a thicker one toward the base of his left wrist. He shuddered inwardly, wondering how he was going to look by the time he was Lupin's age. The only really bad scar he had was the one he had received with the bite, six years ago, and at least that was where no one could see, unless he was careless in the bathroom, and he never was. "How's Harry doing?" Lupin asked gruffly after a moment. William suddenly became very alert to the conversation. Were they talking about Mr Jenson?

The girl seemed to pause for thought before answering. "Better, I think," she said, lowering her voice. "He's been sleeping in Sirius' room."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "That's progress, I suppose."

"I'm not sure. I think he just doesn't trust Dumbledore and the others to protect him, so he's decided to do it himself. You know what he's like."

Lupin shook his head. "Does he even have a wand?"

"Ron got him a spare from the Ministry, but it doesn't work for him as well as the old one. That he can remember, anyway."

Lupin's eyes narrowed. "Still no memory of you?"

The girl's expression turned sad almost immediately. She shook her head.

Lupin looked disappointed. "Well," he said, and there was silence for a while. He turned to William and observed him keenly with amber eyes the exact same shade as William's own. "This place," he began. "It's somewhat of a safe house. You've heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

William nodded. "They're a sort of secret society. Except everyone knows Dumbledore's in charge of it."

The girl called Ginny snorted, and William flushed. "Sorry, he mumbled. "Was that rude?"

Lupin looked mildly amused. "Not at all."

"Are _you _in it?" William asked, unable to help himself. Lupin nodded.

"This is the place where the meetings are held. It also has numerous protections on it, which makes it one of the safest houses in Britain for hiding from Voldemort or his men."

William's eyes widened. "But then… why…?"

"Why are you here?" William nodded. Lupin sighed and put his serious expression back on. "We've had word that Voldemort is about to start rounding up werewolves again. He did a sweep at the start of the war, after Harry -" he paused momentarily, and then went on - "went missing. Mostly feral wolves back then, those that didn't have much to do with society, those that had nothing to lose and everything to gain by joining forces with him. This time, though…" He tapped the side of his teacup with a fingernail, making a _ping _sound with each tap. "It seems he has seen the downside of discrimination. He's going to try and round up _every _dark creature he can find, men women and children, and force them to work for him."

"Not that you're a dark creature," Ginny said quickly to William.

Lupin shot her a look, then waved a hand. "Dumbledore suggested you stay here for the foreseeable future, and I agreed with him. I've reached out to other families, offering sanctuary for their children, if nothing else, but there haven't been any takers so far. Apparently the atrocities of the last four years have yet to impact on some people." He said the last words with an almost audible growl in his voice.

William's heart was currently sitting at the bottom of his stomach. He stared down at the tea which was slowly going cold in front of him. "Oh," he said softly.

"You're perfectly safe here," Ginny assured him. "And its only precautionary, until you go back to Hogwarts."

William was about to say that locking him up in the Headquarters of the society directly opposed to Voldemort didn't _seem _very safe, but he was cut off by a ghost entering through the ceiling. He and Ginny both jumped. Lupin, to his credit, didn't even flinch.

"Malfoy," Ginny muttered, clutching momentarily at her chest. "Why can't you just use the door like everyone else?"

"Where's the fun in that?" the ghost demanded, shrugging. William realised with a jolt that he recognised him. It was the same ghost that had arrived at Hogwarts with Jenson - no, _Potter_. He had been at Ynys Addoed.

"You were a lot easier to deal with when you were alive," Ginny snapped.

Lupin made a low, sniffing noise and a jerking motion with his hand which to William read clearly: _I beg to differ. _Body language was considerably easier for werewolves than it was for humans. It gave them insights that occasionally made people uncomfortable.

"Hey," the ghost said, turning to stare at William. "I know you."

William swallowed and nodded.

"You were on the island."

He nodded again, not sure what he was meant to say.

"Gryffindor are you?"

Another nod.

"Figures."

"This is our guest for the summer holiday, Draco," Lupin said wryly. "William Ross."

"Oh right, wolf boy. Harry mentioned it."

Ginny interrupted before either Lupin or William could object to 'wolf boy'. "What do you want, Malfoy? It's been a while since I've seen you in the kitchen. Don't you usually just haunt the upper floors these days?"

The ghost sneered and ran a hand through his bloodstained hair. "I wish," he muttered. "I just wanted to ask you if you've heard anything on Zabini," he said, turning to Lupin hopefully.

Lupin glanced briefly at William, then shook his head. "Nothing so far. I'm sorry, Draco."

The ghost grimaced. "Doesn't look good. Poor old Blaise... I hope he's dead."

Ginny looked appalled at this suggestion. "How can you? He was your friend - a spy, like you - how can you say that?"

The ghost turned slowly to stare at her with a chill that made the hairs stand up on William's arms. "If he's on the island, then death is infinitely preferable to life," he said, low. "Even with the Lestranges gone… I would not wish a day in that place on anyone, especially a friend. Particularly if he knows nothing of use to them. A waste," he added, almost to himself in a low mutter. "A damn waste."

William was lost. He had the feeling that this was not a conversation he ought to be privy to. Luckily, at that point the ghost seemed to decide that he had heard enough, and disappeared up through the ceiling again. William thought he must be quite a _new _ghost, and not just from the way Ginny spoke to him. None of the Hogwarts ghosts zoomed around like that - except for Peeves, of course, but he didn't really count. "Come along," Lupin said, putting down his teacup. "I'll show you to your room."

"All right," William said nervously, wiping his hands on the sides of his trousers. Lupin led him out of the kitchen and up a gloomy sort of staircase. "This is my room," Lupin said, gesturing to one of the doors. It didn't look particularly different to any of the others. He pointed to the one next to it on the left side. "That one is yours. This one," he added, gesturing to the one on the right side of his own. "Is Harry's. I advise you not to go in there unless he invites you. He gets… jumpy."

"Mr J - I mean, Mr Potter _is _here then?" William asked quickly. He thought it mustn't be wrong to ask now, since Lupin had brought it up. "Last time we asked Professor Granger, she said he was still in recovery."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "An answer worthy of Professor Granger, I think. He was in a secure ward at St Mungos for several months, but came here a few weeks ago. His son Sirius has been here with Ginny and her mother since he was born."

"You mean the baby we found?"

Lupin's expression was pained. "Indeed."

William frowned. "Um, no offence, but should you be telling me all this? I'm not in the Order. Obviously."

"We could hardly hide it from you, since you're going to be living here," Lupin sighed. The way he said it made William wonder if that was all to it. _They'll probably Obliviate me before I go back to Hogwarts, _he realised glumly as he went downstairs to get his trunk and dragged it back up again to his room. A secret this big and important could never be trusted to a mere fourteen year old. Still, it wasn't as if he wasn't already quite good at keeping secrets. He'd managed to keep a fairly significant one for nearly three years at Hogwarts.

He put his stuff around the room, which was big, but quite bare. It had the look of a room that had been recently emptied. There were lighter patches on the wall where pictures might have hung, and while the sheets on the bed were clean and new, the bed itself was obviously very old. It was quite like the dormitory room in Gryffindor tower, except that there was something a lot more… well, _Slytherin _about it.

"Hello."

William looked around. A man was standing in the entrance to his room. It took several seconds for William to recognise him, considering the last time the man had been unconscious and convered in blood. "Um, hi," he said, scratching his ankle with the back of his other foot. "I'm William."

"Beth's friend."

"Yes." William regarded the figure. He was still very thin, but he looked less skeletal than before. There was certainly a lot more life to his face and colour in his cheeks. And standing upright was certainly an improvement. "We were um… worried about you," he added, after a significant silence that felt like it needed filling.

"Draco told me you were on the island. Three of you. You saw…" the man paused, and William saw his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

"Yes," William said again, quietly. The sight of Rodolphus Lestrange writhing in death, snake fangs embedded in his flesh, was enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his teenage years, except that instead he dreamed about Bellatrix and Potter collapsing in a pool of blood after accidentally stabbing each other. He shuddered.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," the man said, low, not quite meeting William's eyes. "But… I know you got us out of there… me, and… and my son. I just wanted to say…"

"It was Beth, really," William interrupted, feeling slightly ill at the memories. "Beth looked after the baby. All I did was get nearly killed."

To his surprise, Mr Potter actually smiled. It was a small smile, but it was there nonetheless. "Still," he said, and strangely washed-out grey eyes came up to meet William's. "Thank her for me, when you see her, then."

William nodded. "I will," he promised.


	11. Foreboding

When Harry woke up from his impromptu nap the next evening, he had a weird, ominous feeling. Of course, he never felt exactly like sunshine and daisies, but as he sat up and wormed his way out of the nest of sheets he had made on the floor under the window, there was a sickening ache in his stomach that put him on edge. He kicked the sheets aside, jammed his new glasses onto his nose and hurried to the cot.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sirius lying there peacefully. The baby had only woken once during the night, but had drifted off again after Harry fed him. Ginny was starting to joke that there was no point in her staying, anymore, with Harry there to look after him, but secretly Harry hoped she would stay. He couldn't say why, but he felt better when she was around. She was obviously hurt that he didn't remember her from his life before, but he was determined on his mission to make new memories, and she was slowly filling in the gaps for him. Some of it was quite embarrassing. She had been annoyed at his apparently grossed-out expression when she had started to describe their first kiss.

"Well you _asked_," she muttered.

"Sorry," he said quickly. Things in the house had gotten considerably less tense since they had come to speaking terms, and he didn't want to offend her. The thing was, he couldn't remember ever kissing anyone, and the look was one more of confusion than disgust. "Were you… I mean, was that my only first kiss, d'you know?"

Her eyes widened. "You don't remember Cho either, then?" she asked, the question laced with its own special kind of poisonous barbs, he was sure. He wondered if the old Harry would have fallen into that trap, but fortunately, he didn't have to.

"Who?" he asked, scratching his head for dramatic effect.

A half-smile crossed her lips as she turned away. "Oh," she said, waving a hand absent-mindedly in the air. "No one…"

Sometimes she was like a total stranger to him. Her clever, nimble fingers as she tied on Sirius' nappy, the ringing timbre of her voice. Every now and then she would turn a certain way, or laugh at some offhand remark, and something like memory, but not quite, would spark deep inside him, like a kind of deja vu. But other than that, other than the all-too-brief vision of a younger girl with copper-red hair down to her waist, smiling in the sunlight… there was nothing. He had to do his best not to remind her of it though, because he knew it made her sad.

He avoided Lupin too, for all the man kept attempting conversation. He thought Lupin sensed that Harry's memories of him were sketchy at best, and kept trying to talk about the old days when he had been a Professor at Hogwarts. Harry did not have the heart to admit that all he remembered of that year were the Dementors, and Sirius. All of his memories of Sirius were as clear as they ever were. The painful memories stood out amongst the faded ones like trees amongst the mast.

His stomach growled as he straightened up from the cot. He must have slept right through dinner. He didn't want to wake the baby, so he padded softly out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and made his way downstairs for some food. No one else was around. He tended to get to sleep late and wake earlier than the others, even Lupin, who no one could call a layabout, and there was no set time for meals since Molly had gone back to the Burrow, so they all tended to fend for themselves. Harry didn't usually cook, though. He didn't quite trust himself.

Yawning, he poured cereal into a bowl and drowned it in milk before sitting at the table. Ginny made fun of him for how much milk he put on his cereal. He couldn't remember if he had always done it, but he hadn't exactly had the luxury of either milk _or _cereal for four years, and he was damned if he was going to stint on it now.

There was a knock on the door. Harry froze, waiting, but no one moved in the house. Carefully he got up and went to the hall, looking up to the magical mirror in the corner of the doorway. It was enchanted to reveal any magical forms of disguise, although it didn't work on Metamorphmagi, or, they had evidently discovered through vigorous testing, strong batches of Polyjuice Potion.

It was Ron on the other side of the door, his tall lanky outline lit by the street lamps. Harry opened it. "Hey Ron."

"Hi Harry," Ron said, looking surprised at who had opened the door. "I need to see Lupin."

"Right." Harry couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. Ron's friendship, he thought, was the most valuable thing he had gained since he had got back. It was all too easy to be jealous of it. He stood to one side. Ron gave him a look.

"You're meant to ask me a security question," he said patiently. "And Lupin usually does a charm."

Harry cursed himself. Lupin had explained that since Harry had been taken, they had disabled the Fidelius charm, since if Harry was dead the Order no longer had a right to the house. Dumbledore himself had spent days putting protection spells on Number Twelve to protect it even from the Blacks, which _had _included the Lestranges but now really meant just Narcissa Malfoy. Since Harry wasn't dead, the whole thing was triply confused, but essentially no one should be able to get into the house unless they were invited. Unfortunately this allowed for a certain amount of human error. "Er…" Harry mumbled, trying to think of something to ask Ron. "What sort of car did your dad use to have… the one we drove to school that time?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "A Ford Anglia - honestly, you remember _that_, but not your first kiss. And yes, Ginny told me about that." He came into the house, and put on the serious expression he seemed to wear a lot these days. Harry found it quite unfamiliar, but he wasn't sure if that was his fault, or if Ron had always just been more cheerful, before. "Lupin?"

"In his room," Harry guessed. "Already asleep, maybe."

Ron hurried up the stairs, taking some of them two at a time. After a brief moment of hesitation, Harry followed him, at a more measured pace that didn't make him want to collapse. He seemed to have reached a plateau of recovery where he could function normally as long as he didn't exert himself too much. He wondered privately if he was going to be this weak for the rest of his life, but he was too afraid to ask whenever Neville came to check on him.

Ron knocked on Lupin's door and went in, closing it behind him. Harry was left staring at the closed door until another door opened, and a head poked out. Harry wasn't sure what to make of Lupin's young ward. William was a quiet boy, and he seemed somehow older than his years, much like Lupin himself must have been as a child, Harry supposed. He could see why he and Beth were friends, and he was glad. By all accounts William had saved the girl's life on the island. And the three children had got to Sirius before any Death Eaters could, and for that Harry knew he was indebted to all three of them forever. "Is something happening?" William asked nervously, but as well-spoken as ever.

Harry shrugged. "No idea. Nothing to do with us, apparently. Want some late supper?"

William nodded, and followed Harry back to the kitchen where Harry threw away his soggy cereal and started again. There was no shortage of it - Molly had stocked them up before she left. He wondered if he should try and make small talk, but decided against it. William surely didn't need it, and he didn't think he'd be much good at it in any case, so they sat and ate in silence.

Ron and Lupin came down about ten minutes later. Lupin was fully dressed, in robes much like Ron's, tight enough to not get in the way, but loose enough to allow movement - combat robes. "You two going somewhere?" Harry asked, frowning. It was nearly ten o'clock at night.

"We've got a lead on Zabini and some other prisoners," Ron explained shortly. "We're going after them before You-Know-Who can have them moved to another island."

Harry felt his heart sink slightly, and wondered why. Of course they wouldn't ask him to _come. _That would be ridiculous. Even Harry was pretty sure he had fought his last battle. But still, the idea of his friends risking their lives without him made him feel oddly empty. "Who's _we?_" he asked.

"What's left of the MLE - including trainees - and most of the Order," Lupin replied, putting on his cloak for all it was June. "I'm sorry to leave you both, but Ginny will be here."

Harry was about to snap that he didn't need a babysitter, until he remembered William sitting beside him. He kept forgetting the boy was only fourteen, and it wasn't as if Harry himself was a suitable guardian. "Right," he agreed, reluctantly. William only nodded. Harry thought he looked a bit annoyed, behind his constant polite expression.

"Don't open the door to anyone, unless it's Molly," Lupin went on.

"And _check _that it's her, remember," Ron prompted, for all he made fun of what he called 'random trivia security'.

"Yeah, all right," Harry sighed. He knew he should be grateful that they trusted him enough to leave him more-or-less in charge, but somehow that didn't make him feel any better. He still couldn't quite shake the ominous feeling that something just wasn't quite right.

Ron gave him a searching look, but then appeared to give up. "Bye then," he said, to both Harry and William. "Take care of yourselves."

He and Lupin turned to leave, but Harry called out before he could stop himself. "Ron…"

"Yeah?" Ron looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Um…" he faltered. "Er, good luck. I hope you find Zabini. It's all Draco can think about. And I…" he trailed off.

Ron nodded, grim-faced. "Thanks. We'll do our best."

"And be careful," Harry added quickly, with great effort. That was really what he had wanted to say in the first place, but for some reason the words struggled on their way from his brain to his mouth. As though if he said them he might be inviting something worse than whatever his imagination could come up with.

Ron rolled his eyes, a little of his old self finally rearing its head. "Yes mother. We'll see you later."

They left; Lupin could be heard doing a final check on the security wards before the door closed behind them. Harry and William finished their inappropriately-timed cereal. Just as Harry put down his spoon, Sirius woke up, and William offered to put the dishes away. Harry nodded gratefully and hurried up the stairs.

Ginny was already in Sirius' room, changing him. The cries had diminished to a barely audible whimper. "Hey," Ginny said as he came in, the ward on the door alerting her to his presence.

"Hi," he said, sheepishly. "I didn't mean to be out for so long… Ron came, and then he and Lupin left, and dinner took longer than I…"

"Harry, it's okay. He really doesn't need twenty-four-seven supervision, you know." She finished tying the baby's nappy and picked him up, rocking him side to side a little until the crying stopped entirely.

"Draco says he does," Harry muttered.

"Harry, no one can get in here, no matter what Malfoy says," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "What did Ron want, then?"

"You don't know?"

She shook her head. He went over to what passed for his own bed, the pile of sheets by the window, and began to fold them as he explained what Ron had said. Ginny's expression grew more and more anxious. "Oh hell," she sighed. "It's only been three months since their last mad venture. I dunno what we'd do if one of them got… I mean especially if it was Ron… Mum couldn't handle it."

_What about you? _Harry wanted to ask, but didn't. He didn't know her well enough to take such liberties yet.

Ginny sighed. "I hope they're all right," she mumbled. "Do you know if Hermione went?"

Harry shrugged. "Lupin said most of the Order," he replied.

"Probably then, since it's school holidays. There aren't really that many of them."

Harry nodded. The Order had grown a little from what he remembered, but not by much. It seemed as though they would need any able-bodied fighter they could get. "Do you not fight?" the question came out before he could stop it.

She glared at him. "You _would _ask that."

"Well, I just thought… because of your brothers, and…" he shrugged lamely.

"I joined the Order to take care of your son, Harry. You know that." She cuddled Sirius to her face for a moment, tickling his baby-soft cheeks with the ends of her hair and making him giggle.

"Yeah, I know. Never mind." He finished folding the sheets and laid them over the arm of the chair by the cot.

Ginny, apparently determined to be annoyed at him whatever he did, shook her head. "Why are you suddenly so obsessively neat? You were always so messy, before."

Harry frowned. "Was I?" All that came to mind was Aunt Petunia telling him to _tidy his things_ - what things she was talking about, he had no idea. He remembered cleaning the house a lot, but if he'd ever had his own room, that was a another blank space in his memory.

Ginny stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "I still have trouble believing you're really _you _sometimes, you know."

Harry looked down at the pile of folded sheets. "Yeah, me too," he said, so low he thought she might not have heard him.

She made a huffing sound. "Quiet in here today," she said, looking around. "Where's your ghost friend?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Invisible somewhere, maybe."

Ginny shuddered and made a face. "I wish he wouldn't _do _that. How'm I meant to know where he is? He could be watching me in the shower."

Harry laughed.

Then his scar seemed to split open down his forehead, and something _exploded, _sending him flying. He landed with a thud amid a roar of noise, and falling debris, and fire. And somewhere, his son was screaming.

* * *

Making some progress with this story finally. Hoping to get it all wrapped up by Christmas. Please review; your support is so, so appreciated.


	12. Unfinished Business

Somewhere, his son was screaming.

Harry's head felt like it had been split open. Something was pounding hard behind his eyes and there was a sharp pain at the back of his skull, but most of all his scar was on _fire_, worse than it had been in years. He tried to move, felt a lance of pain spasm throughout his entire body, and fell back into a pile of rubble. "Sirius," he croaked, trying to see through the smoke and the dust, to follow the sound of the screams through the hollow, ominous rumble the house made. "Sirius!"

He shoved away the piece of ceiling that had fallen on him, straining all the muscles in his arms, and somehow scrambled onto his knees, ignoring his body as it protested vehemently with every little movement. He crawled forward, coughing so hard he thought his lungs might collapse, seeing with his fingers on the carpet covered in bits of brick and plaster.

His hands finally came into contact with something soft and covered in cloth. He patted at it, and with horror he realised it was Ginny's arm. "Ginny?" he gasped, shaking her, trying to wake her. The dust started to clear, and he realised half the reason he was having trouble seeing was that his glasses were cracked right down one of the lenses. He wanted to scream with frustration, but he tore them off and tossed them aside. He had managed for four years without them, but after a few weeks of decent vision the sudden lack of it was like a shock to the system, harder to adjust. He squinted at Ginny, trying to work out if she was breathing.

She was lying on her side, curled up, and Sirius' screams were coming from somewhere underneath her. Harry pulled her arms aside as gently as he could, his fingers finally closing on the soft furry fabric of his son's onesie. Ginny had managed to protect him in her fall, cushioning him with her body, but there was a cut across the child's forehead where some falling debris must have scratched through the still-soft skin. Harry held him close, trying to think through his cries and the noise outside and something _else _that was blowing up now, on the other side of the house…

They were under attack. He had to get out. He had to get out of the house, and take Ginny with him somehow. There was no one else in the house… wait, yes there was. William was still downstairs, somewhere, but he couldn't do anything about that, not yet.

"Ginny," he hissed, his voice still hoarse with dust. "Ginny, wake up… please…"

If she didn't wake up, he'd have to go without her. The thought of what Ron would say, what he might _do_, made his head pound even more than it already was, and he couldn't even contemplate _Molly's_ reaction. If it was just Harry, if his was the only life he had to protect, he knew he would stay for Ginny, even if it meant dying. But the tiny, wailing bundle in his arms was more important. Was the _most _important. Ginny would understand that.

When he looked up, he could see the sky, covered in stars. At first he wondered if he had hit his head harder than he thought, but when he blinked and looked again he realised that the whole wall of the nursery had been blown away. Three feet from where Ginny lay, the floor dropped away into the dark, and the remains of Sirius' cot lay collapsed and burning on the edge, the flames illuminating the ruin. Anger shot through him, anger such as he hadn't felt since before the island. Pure, unfettered fury. His son had been lying there only minutes earlier.

"It's all right," he whispered, rocking the baby against his chest, kneeling amid the tattered remains of the room, willing the breath to return to his lungs and strength to return to his limbs. "You'll be all right. I promise. I won't let anything happen to you..."

Someone was shouting nearby. "There! There!" Harry took one last painful look at Ginny's pale, still face, and scrambled to his feet. His whole body protested the movement, but he couldn't stop now, he _wouldn't _stop now.

Harry nearly tripped over the overturned armchair. He put his one free hand out to steady himself and painstakingly started to inch his way around it. Seconds later however, something behind him _crashed_ to the floor, and probably _through _the floor, and he fell forward, clutching Sirius desperately to his chest as he landed hard on his knees. Pain shot up through his legs and down his arms. He tasted copper where he bitten his tongue.

"POTTER!"

Harry's scar burned. He looked up through tear-filled eyes at the seemingly enormous black figure rising up through the flames. The man's wand whisked the burning cot to one side as he stepped onto what was left of the carpet. The wards made no attempt to reject him. They had probably been destroyed along with the wall.

Voldemort had long ago ceased to be the thing he feared above all else. Bellatrix Lestrange had caused him more pain and suffering than Voldemort ever had, and she was dead. But Sirius was still crying, his cries echoing round and around in Harry's head like an alarm, and Harry was afraid for _him_, more afraid than he could remember being in his life. "You won't have him!" Harry yelled. He sounded small and pathetic next to Riddle, his voice thick with dust and fear. "I'll never let you take him. You'll have to kill me first." A slow, terrible realisation came over him. "And you know how well that worked out for you last time," he added, spitting the words into Voldemort's snake-like face.

Would it even work? he thought desperately. If Voldemort killed Harry, would his sacrifice protect Sirius enough to save him? Carefully he stepped back, not taking his eyes off his enemy, and put Sirius down onto the cushion that had fallen out of the chair. If Harry fell, he would make sure Sirius wasn't hurt by the fall.

Voldemort wasn't even aiming his wand at Harry. A thin, horrible smile curled the edges of what passed for his lips, his red eyes burned. "If only I could, Potter," he hissed. "The worst I've ever been able to do to you permanently is to give you a headache."

It was true, Harry realised, his heart sinking. Aside from the scar when he was a baby, and the Cruciatus curse, Voldemort had never been the one to hurt him physically. Except for being set on fire… and he didn't remember that.

"I still won't let you take him," he insisted, fumbling in his pocket for his wand, the one Ron had got him from the Ministry that probably belonged to some poor dead trainee. He knew it would never be a match for Voldemort's, not the way the old one had been, but it was all he had. _At least he can't read my mind_, he thought.

"Don't be silly, boy," Voldemort cooed, though Harry was four years a man, now. "All I have to do is stun you. Or cut your head off… that might keep you down for a little while… then the child is mine. Stand aside, now."

_Stand aside… stand aside now… _

"I WON'T!" Harry yelled. His mother hadn't stood aside, she had done everything she possibly could to protect him, and he was going to do the same for his son…

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shouted, aiming his wand at Voldemort's chest. The snake-like face actually looked surprised for a moment, but the expression settled into a maniacal laugh when all that appeared were a few green sparks from the end of Harry's wand.

"I doubt you have enough magic left to fill a teacup, Potter," Voldemort hissed delightedly. "I can't kill you, but I can get you out of the way long enough to get what's mine."

"Then you'll have to kill _me_." Both Harry and Voldemort looked around. Ginny was standing amid the debris, her robes torn, her wand clutched in a white-knuckled grip. Her mouth was set in a determined line, and from what Harry could see, there was no fear in her eyes at all. She came to stand next to Harry, putting herself between Voldemort and Sirius. "I'd die for him too."

Voldemort stared down at her, contempt bright in his red, inhuman eyes. "You aren't his mother," he growled.

"No, but I love him as much as if he was," Ginny insisted. "Go ahead, if you're so keen on being blasted back into a… a disembodied pile of… of nothing!"

Harry, dumbfounded, realised he had let his wand hand fall, and hastily brought it up again. It seemed ridiculous, the three of them, a cripple and a young girl and a baby against the Dark Lord. Harry felt a sick certainty in the pit of his stomach that they were all going to die. But, he realised with a growing dread, he would rather Sirius died than end up in Voldemort's hands.

_Could you do it? _whispered the voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously liked Draco. _Could you kill him to save him? _

"Well," Voldemort grimaced. "Isn't this a familiar scene?" He raised his wand, long spindly fingers wrapped against the polished wood. "Since you are both so insistent… STUPIFY!"

"PROTEGO!"

Harry and Ginny raised their own wands as one, with a speed Harry hadn't known he was still capable of. A huge sparkling shield appeared between them, and Voldemort's cursed bounced off it, reverberating up Harry's arm so hard his teeth chattered.

"You'll have to do better than that!" Ginny yelled.

"Malfoy!" Voldemort could be heard yelling. "Fetch Gresson and Dolohov…"

"He's calling for back up," Harry croaked.

"Coward," Ginny hissed. "Too scared to kill us himself…"

Harry looked at her. "Ginny," he said softly. "I'm sorry…"

"Shut up," she snapped at him. "Just shut up. We are in this _together, _Harry. We always have been, even if you don't remember it."

Harry looked from her, to Voldemort behind the shield that still stood between them, to Sirius whimpering on the chair cushion. "Could you run?" he asked, dust thick in his throat. "If you took him, you might have a chance - "

"You should take him," Ginny said, her eyes bright. "You're his father…"

"I can't run," Harry insisted. "You're faster than me, and stronger. I have to give him the best chance, and that's with you." The shield was fading. "Please," he added, staring into her eyes, not daring to look at the wailing bundle on the floor unless it broke his heart. There was a pile of rubbish in front of the door, and he had no idea what state the rest of the house was in. At the moment it felt like they were standing on the rolling deck of a ship in a stormy ship, as if any moment the whole of Number Twelve could come down around their ears. But Ginny would have a chance, which meant Sirius would have a chance. All he had to do was distract Voldemort for long enough.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Ginny nodded.

The shield went down. Death Eaters were floating up to the top level of the house on broomsticks, landing on the bare patches of carpet and drawing their wands. Harry took a trembling step in front of Ginny and raised his wand. "Come on then!" he yelled hoarsely, brandishing it more like a club than the delicate instrument it was. "Which of you wants a go? You really think you've got a chance? Lestrange couldn't ever finish me off... and I bet you all heard what I did to her and her pathetic excuse for a husband!"

Voldemort's face twisted into a mask of pure fury, though his followers seemed somewhat hesitant behind their masks. One of them, with long blonde hair extending over his shoulders, was definitely Lucius Malfoy. The man was trembling from head to foot. In the small part of his brain that was still thinking, Harry wondered whether Voldemort had brought him in the hope that he might get himself killed. "Come on!" Harry challenged them again, sensing Ginny move behind him.

"No!" Voldemort screeched. "Don't let her get away!" His wand hand was still raised, but he dare not curse Ginny while she held the baby. Harry felt instinctively that the Dark Lord was too afraid to be reduced to what he had been when he tried to kill Harry as an infant to risk harming either of them, and he felt a brief flicker of hope.

Suddenly Malfoy lurched forward, trying to throw himself in Ginny's path. Ginny kicked out at him, trying to hold Sirius in one hand and keep her balance with the other. Harry took a shaky step towards her, knowing he was almost powerless to help her but he had to _try_…

And then, out of nowhere, something bright and silvery stood in Malfoy's way, and he howled and fell to his knees, sheltering his eyes with both hands.

For a moment Harry thought it was a Patronus, but it was man-shaped. He squinted at it. It looked back at him and smiled. "Draco?" Harry whispered.

The ghost usually gave off a dim, silvery light, but now he was _glowing_, reflecting the heat of the flames, sparkling bright in the starlight. He took a step forward, towards Harry, and then, before Harry could move or even protest, _into _Harry, filling him with a terrible, heart-stopping cold. Harry gasped and shuddered as phantom limbs lined up with his own, as the cold spread through him until he thought he might scream. When he looked down at his hands, they glowed silver, and where the stumps of his missing fingers had been, there were whole fingers, ghostly and insubstantial, but there.

_This is it_, Draco's voice echoed inside his head. Through the terrible, gasping cold, Harry could feel something deeper, tugging at him.

_What are you doing? _he asked, not sure how he knew _how _to ask. It was sort of like Legilimency, but there were no wands, no spell words, just their two minds next to each other, a constantly open connection.

_I need your magic, _came the explanation, sparking an even stronger panic. _Trust me_. _It's okay._

It most certainly was _not _okay, Harry thought, but as the ghost did whatever he was doing, he found that the biting, suffocating cold settled into a chill, as if he had just walked outside into a snowy day.

"WHAT IS THIS?" Voldemort demanded. He slashed his wand through the air, almost absent-mindedly, and Harry felt a stab of pain as his cheek sliced open. Blood started to pour down his chin. But then, almost as quickly as it had started, he felt the skin start to come together again, closing as if nothing had happened at all.

"Draco," Lucius Malfoy whined from where he cowered on the floor, his mask slipped half off his face. "Draco, what are you doing?"

"Unfinished business," said Harry, but he had no control over the words and the voice was not his own. "See you all on the other side."

* * *

Your reviews and feedback is appreciated!

Chapter 13 will come next weekend and the Epilogue soon after... if you're good boys and girls, maybe on Christmas day...


	13. On Sleepless Roads

_And what would you think of me now_

_So lucky, so strong, so proud_

_I never said thank you for that_

_Now I'll never have a chance_

_May angels lead you in_

_Hear you me, my friend_

_On sleepless roads the sleepless go_

_May angels lead you in_

_Hear You Me - Jimmy Eat World_

~*-0-*~

* * *

~*-0-*~

When the ceiling came down, William had the presence of mind to duck under the table. He was pretty pleased with that particular ingenuity, because it took a lot to kill one of his kind, and he could easily imagine a long, painful death being trapped under something immovable, being slowly crushed or bleeding to death as his cursed werewolf constitution fought to stay alive.

_Still a possibility_, he had to admit to himself as the house shook violently and the table, big and oak and heavy as it was, started to groan under the pressure of holding up what had to be most of the second floor. Lupin would have known what to do, but Lupin was out, and everyone else was upstairs. He found himself wishing that Quin was there, or even Beth. Beth would have been comforting, and Quin would have made a joke of it, and it was easier to think when he had someone else to think about other than himself.

_If wishes were fishes_, he thought crossly, shaking plaster dust out of his hair. Something above him made a low, ominous creaking noise, and there was no more time for deliberation. He hurled himself forward toward the kitchen door, hitting the floor and rolling as he did so towards the small opening. He made it through, just as a silver bathtub came crashing wn and caused the old table to finally give way in a thunder of noise and a cloud of dust and debris. He put his arms over his head as it rained down on him, and scrambled to his feet as soon as the immediate danger seemed to have passed.

He ought to get out, he knew. The front door was right there. But there had been another explosion, an earlier one that had given him just enough warning to make it to safety when the second one came right over his head. And he had no idea where anyone else was. He was sure Lupin would want him to check first, before finding his own way to safety.

The staircase was still intact, though the whole place seemed to be still vibrating with the force of whatever they had been hit with. William thought he knew what it was. Even at Hogwarts they had heard rumours of Death Eaters catching on to Muggle forms of combat, harnessing the power of gunpowder and explosives and enhancing them with magic. It was said that such weapons might be able to smash right through wards and protection spells. But no one had actually _believed _such rumours, because why would Death Eaters lower themselves to using Muggle technology?

William certainly could believe it now, though.

"Safest house in Britain, my arse," he muttered to himself as he gripped the bannister. It wasn't like him to use such language, but then, it wasn't as if anyone could _hear_. He made his way up as quickly as he could while still methodically testing each step before he put his weight on it. Now was not the time to be taking any chances. But where was he going to look?

_The nursery, _he thought. That was where Harry would be headed, if he wasn't there already. He stepped onto the landing, and almost immediately was forced to take cover as another explosion rocked the house. He swore to himself, a lot worse this time, and hurried along to the second staircase, running now with as light a step as he could manage to avoid holding his weight in any one spot for too long.

He could see the door to the nursery from half way up the stairs, or he _should _have seen the door, but what he saw now was a gaping hole blocked by brick and fallen furniture. Half the corridor had fallen in. _They're probably dead_, said a voice at the back of his head. _They're dead, you're going to get yourself killed and they're all dead anyway..._

No, he told the voice with all the courage he could muster. Quin wouldn't quit now. Neither would Beth, if she knew the baby was in danger. Beth'd never forgive me if I quit now.

So he kept going, sticking close to the wall, and when he got onto the landing and the wall ran out, scrambled over the debris on his hands and feet. _More like a cat than a wolf,_ he thought grimly to himself. _A cat with a bloody death wish, and I've only got one life to lose_.

He looked back up at the entrance to the nursery just in time to get himself blinded by a flash of silvery white light. He winced and put a hand to his eyes, realising just as he did so that someone was crawling over the rubble towards him. It was Ginny, and she was carrying the baby in one arm.

"Are you all right?" he called over the noise of the house groaning, and yet another explosion from somewhere downstairs.

"Fine," Ginny called back, reaching him and taking his hand when he offered it to help her over the last pile. "Is the way out -"

"It's clear," William said quickly. "So far, but we better hurry - where's Mr Potter? Is he okay?"

Ginny's mouth was set, her eyes bright. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. William could read her hopelessness in the set of her shoulders. "We have to get Sirius out of here," she said instead, hoisting the child higher on her shoulder.

"Right," William said. He wondered what Beth would do when he told her that her 'Mr Jenson' had died, after all that they had done. "Follow me."

He led the way back to the top of the second staircase. It still seemed fairly solid. "That last one hit somewhere downstairs," he called over his shoulder as they descended. "Be careful."

Ginny's reply was lost in the thunder that erupted suddenly somewhere to their right. William was holding the bannister, but the whole staircase shook so that he fell backwards onto his backside, held up by the railing, and his fingers slipped. He slid down a few steps, grabbing on again just in time to stop himself flying off into a gaping hole that had suddenly appeared below them. He swore. "Now what?" he shouted over his shoulder. Ginny was crouching by the wall side of the staircase, holding the baby close. She stared past him at the gap with a determined expression. "Jump," she told him firmly.

"But you -" he began, wide-eyed.

Just do it, William." Ginny held the baby close and scrambled back a few steps, gripping tight onto the rungs of the bannister.

William looked back at the hole and took a deep breath. It wasn't really that far, for a fourteen year old boy. Quin and his Ravenclaw friends had been known to dare each other to jump the trick stairs at Hogwarts larger than that. But at least the worst that would happen _there_ was that you might get embarrassingly stuck for a while.

When he peered over the edge of _this _gap, it went right down to the first floor, and something down there was burning. He could smell the smoke and hear the crackle of the flames even if he couldn't see them through the haze of dust that constantly filled the air. _You're a werewolf, dammit, _he told himself sternly, stepping back onto the step above. _Practicaly indestructible right? That has to be good for something. Just because you've never really been into sports… doesn't mean you can't do this… _

Voices started to drift down to them from above. "Where is she?" someone called out. "She's got to be up here somewhere!"

William looked up. There were people moving around on the landing, coming towards them. "_Go!_" Ginny hissed, and drew her wand.

The voice of authority forced him back to the gap. William always did what he was told. Up until recently, anyway. He jumped.

He landed with a thud and rolled forward onto the landing, which shook under his weight. The house seemed to be teetering on an unstable framework, for all it had always seemed as ancient and immovable as time itself. He turned back to see Ginny hurling a curse up at a masked man who had just reached the top of the staircase. She had the disadvantage; he had the higher ground. She shouted "PROTEGO!" and the Death Eater's curse only _just _reflected off it to smash into the upper part of the staircase. William drew his own wand, not sure what to do. They hadn't done a great deal of duelling in Defence Against the Dark Arts. You weren't supposed to learn to fight until you were fifteen or older. But he knew the stunning spell.

"STUPIFY!"

His curse shot up the stairs and grazed the masked man on his arm. He fell back, not quite stunned but certainly a little unsteady on his feet. He fell to his knees and waved his hands ineffectually in the air, trying to get back up again with little success. The second man fell flat on his back, screaming and clutching at his face as Ginny whipped out another curse. William could not imagine what she might have done to him.

She turned back to him, still holding the baby in one arm. "Take him," she commanded, crouching dangerously on the step just above the gaping hole and holding out the child with both hands so that he dangled over the abyss. Horrified, William hurried back up as high as he could go, ignoring the cracks of splintering woodwork under his feet, reached up, and let her drop the child into his arms. His heart stopped as, for a split second the child free-fell through midair, limbs dangling, head lolling, but then William had him and he retreated, scurrying back to the relative safety of the landing. "Now you!' he called to Ginny, but she didn't need to be told. She took a run-up and threw herself forward. As she landed, something _snapped_ beneath them, and she scrambled forward as the rest of the staircase crumpled in on itself. William handed the baby back to her, and they _ran. _

~*-0-*~

~*-0-*~

Harry felt something powerful start to build inside him. It was comparable only with the feeling of creating a Patronus, and that he remembered only passing well. It was as if something huge, something strong and unnamable was filling him, starting in his stomach and radiating outwards until his very skin started to pulse with the steady beat of his heart. Harry knew he could stop it if he wanted. All he had to do was move, to break Draco's hold on him, to tear apart the connection the ghost had made. But somehow he knew that to do that would ruin his only chance of getting out of this alive.

He wasn't sure _how _he knew it, but Draco had said to trust him, and Harry _did _trust him. Draco had been there for the last two and a half years since Mark Jenson had died. Draco had helped him escape from Ynys Addoed. Draco had saved the trainees from the Lestranges. Harry didn't know or understand what was going on, but he had never been much good at planning or understanding things. Draco was the smart one. Draco made the plans. Harry would just have to go along with it, as he always had.

Voldemort was shouting, but Harry was so deeply concentrated on what was going on in his own head that he could barely hear the words. Why was no one cursing him? It would be easy to take him out when he was just standing here. Then he looked down at himself and saw the bright red and gold of wand light - but no green, not yet - bouncing off his silvery torso. _How are you doing that? _he asked Draco, but received no answer.

He couldn't look around to see where Ginny had gone. He thought a couple of Death Eaters might have got past him when he wasn't looking. He could only hope she had got away, could only hope she could make it outside through all the smoke and the flames and the falling debris - even now he could hear crashing sounds on the other side of the house as if a floor had fallen in.

Harry's hand gripped his wand. His arm came up, apparently of its own accord. He stared at it. _Now! _Draco shouted inside his head, and Harry yelled the first curse that came into his mind.

"STUPIFY!"

The spell burst from him like a raging tide. It was so big and so strong that everything in its path was thrown back, not just Voldemort and the Death Eaters but all that remained of the furniture and the pile of brick and plaster that had once been the wall of the nursery. The Death Eaters that weren't thrown over the edge to fall into the darkness below lay still on the ruined carpet, but Voldemort only hissed in anger and whirled on Harry again.

_Again, _said Draco's voice, calm and somehow reassuring, and Harry raised the wand once more. "STUPIFY!" he shouted, at the same time Voldemort screeched "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry's curse was strong, but the killing curse was stronger. It blasted through the path of the stunning spell and hit Harry in the forearm as he threw it up, uselessly, to protect himself. Green light hit silver. Suddenly Harry was himself again, alone under a dome of silver and green light, the whole thing twisting and writhing as each fought for dominance. It wasn't cold anymore, with Draco gone, but Harry somehow felt empty without him. He dropped to his knees, suddenly finding that he could no longer hold himself up. But at least he wasn't dead.

He looked up at the lights battling above him. It covered him in a bubble of light that both protected him and tried to attack him at the same time, and through it he could see Voldemort raging.

The green light crackled and went out, and the dome vanished. Harry blinked. Draco stood just in front of him, glowing even brighter than before. He did not look at Harry, but took three steps forward until he stood right in front of Voldemort. "What can you do?" Voldemort growled, but Harry thought he heard something like hesitation in the Dark Lord's high-pitched voice. "You're not even alive."

"_Being alive is overrated,"_ Draco replied, and raised an arm.

Harry watched in fascinated horror as the ghost reached out and plunged his hand right into Voldemort's chest. The Dark Lord gasped and tried to step back, but Draco was still glowing with borrowed power, and he had a tight grip on whatever was left of the man's heart. As Harry watched, shielding his eyes from Draco's brightness, Voldemort's red eyes rolled up in the sockets, and he collapsed to the carpet, a crumpled pale corpse. Draco crouched and held his grip for several more seconds, as if to make sure, and then he stood and came over to Harry.

"Did I know you could do that?" Harry croaked, staring wide-eyed up at his friend.

Draco smiled. _"Let's go."_ His voice was strangely echoey, as though he was speaking from the end of a long tunnel, but there were no walls to echo from.

"How?" Harry demanded. Below his knees something creaked ominously. "This place won't last much longer…"

_"Take my hand,"_ Draco said. He held out the hand that had just seconds ago squeezed the life out of Voldemort's heart, that had up until recently been just as insubstantial as air. Harry hesitated a split second, then took it. He had just enough time to marvel at how _solid _it was before the nursery vanished, and he was kneeling on the street of Grimmauld Place, just outside Number Eleven. When he turned to look back at Number Twelve, it was unrecognisable. What had been the nursery was all that was left of the top floor. The whole of that side of the house was gone, revealing rooms that burned. All that was left of the house was burning.

"Harry!"

Harry looked around, and felt almost sick with relief. Ginny was running towards him, carrying Sirius on her shoulder, and behind her, limping slightly, was William. The boy was covered in soot and grime and looked much the worse for wear, but he was upright. Ginny hurried forward and practically fell into Harry's arms, holding him tight. Sirius made a low protesting noise at being squashed between them. "What happened?" Ginny demanded. "Where's - what - " She turned to stare wide-eyed at Draco.

Harry took Sirius from her and looked him over, checking for signs of harm. He was no longer crying, though the cut on his cheek must still sting. He wore an expression of slight confusion, but did not seem to have been affected by the smoke. "We got out before it really started burning," Ginny said, not taking her eyes off of Draco. "Should he... be glowing like that?"

"We should get him to a Healer anyway," William said sensibly. "And we should definitely get out of here in case more of them come."

"_There aren't any more of them,"_ Draco said, in that strange, echoey voice. _"When they hear, they'll all start running." _

"Hear what?" Ginny asked, wiping sweat and grime off her forehead with the back of her sleeve.

"Draco killed Voldemort," Harry said. He was surprised by how casual his own voice sounded.

"He _what?_" Ginny looked dumbfounded. "How?"

"No idea." Harry looked up and met Draco's eyes. There was a calm, oddly content expression on the ghost's face that he couldn't remember ever seeing before. "How _did _you do that?"

"_The magic was all yours, Harry," _Draco said, smiling. _"I just borrowed it for a while."_

"But _how -_ "

"_Back at Hogwarts… remember when I kept disappearing for hours at a time? I was talking to the Hogwarts ghosts…. they told me that if it came to it, if the connection between us was strong enough, I could use your power to strengthen my morphic field. And it _was_ strong enough. I only came back because of you, you know. You were my unfinished business, after Lestrange. And now it's over." _

Harry shivered. It was cold out here in the night despite the flames from across the street. Draco was getting brighter, so that his face was almost invisible behind the silvery glow. "What do you mean?" Harry demanded, shielding his eyes with the hand that wasn't holding his son. "What do you mean, it's over?"

"_I'm all out. I'm done. I tried to tell you." _

"No," Harry cried. He felt Ginny's hand on his arm, but he ignored it. "You can't go - I need you!"

"_You have your friends. You have your son. I've been dead for months, Harry, and I don't think I'm really cut out for this particular afterlife. I'd like a little of that peace people talk about, the sort you bloody Gryffindor heroes are supposed to get, after…" _

"But - no - Draco, you can't..." Harry took a step towards the now almost blinding light, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Harry." Ginny came and put her other hand on his opposite shoulder, stopping him from hurling himself forward after his friend. "Let him go. He's earned his rest. Let him go."

"_Listen to the woman, Harry," _Draco laughed, and even though Harry couldn't see him anymore through the light that surrounded him, he knew the dead man was rolling his eyes. _"She'll set you right. I'll see you in sixty years or so, and not a moment before. Promise me."_

Harry choked back a sob. But Ginny was right. Draco had earned the right to a peaceful death. "I promise,` he whispered.

The light blazed even brighter for a moment, and then, quite suddenly, went out.

Harry stared at the empty place where his friend had been, and held Sirius close. He knew they should go to St Mungos, and they would, but it might take him a few minutes to conjure up the energy. He was so tired, the kind of exhaustion that could only come from knowing something terrible was finally, finally over.

Ginny put her arm around him as Muggles started to come out of their houses to point and exclaim at the fire, and the building that surely hadn't been there until a few moments ago. He felt something inside him, perhaps a part of him that had been holding Draco to the world all along, gently give way, and if he hadn't been holding Sirius his knees would have surely buckled. Instead he stood, with Ginny and Sirius and William, and together they watched the house burn down.

**The End**

* * *

But stay tuned for the Epilogue...**  
**


	14. Epilogue

Happy Christmas everyone!

* * *

"Oi, Jenson! Anyone home in there?"

He blinked and looked up. Luke was staring at him from the seat opposite, waving his hand in between them to get him attention. "Did you say something?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I only just asked you three times if your stepmum's picking you up again. You all right? You've been quiet all day."

Sirius looked out the train window at the city whizzing past. They were almost at Kings Cross Station. "M'fine," he muttered. "Just thinking."

Luke grinned unsympathetically. "Uh-oh. You know school is over until September, right? You don't have to start _thinking_ about stuff for another week at least."

"Says he who already has a summer job," Sirius pointed out, raising an imperious eyebrow.

Luke shrugged. "Sweeping out my dad's shop doesn't really count. But you don't need a job, right? You can help out at the home."

Sirius grimaced inwardly. That thought wasn't particularly inviting. "Yeah, I guess."

"So…"

"So?"

Luke made a face. "Is. Your stepmum. Picking. You. Up?"

"Oh. I dunno. Probably. My dad doesn't get out much."

"Your dad's a bit mental." Luke grinned.

Sirius couldn't help but smile back. Luke was all right, for a Hufflepuff. Sirius had never really gotten on with the other boys in Slytherin. They all thought his dad was mental as well, but when they said it, it was an insult worthy of Sirius' wrath, and one or the other would usually end up with a broken nose or their ears temporarily cursed off. When Luke said it, Sirius was inclined to agree.

Anyway, his dad always threw a fit when Sirius cursed people. He had no idea _why_, it wasn't as if everyone else didn't have these little altercations every now and again. But whenever Sirius got in trouble for fighting, it was always like a _big deal. _There had even been Howlers. No wonder everyone thought his dad was off the rails.

As they rolled into the platform at King's Cross, the sixth years in the carriage pulled their trunks down from the overhead compartments and started chatting excitedly about going home, and the summer holiday. Some of them were still wearing their school robes, as if reluctant to take them off, but all Sirius wore was his Prefect's badge pinned to the sleeve of his t-shirt. It was too hot for school robes, and he was sure to attract enough attention in his home neighbourhood without swanning around in wizarding dress. The Muggle neighbours already thought he was weird.

"See you round then," Luke said cheerfully as the train shuddered to a halt and there was a stampede to the sliding doors. "Owl me?"

"Yeah," Sirius nodded, his grip tightening on the handle of his trunk.

His stepmother was indeed waiting on the platform, with a small child clinging to her skirt. She was dressed in simple Muggle clothes, much like Sirius' own. At least _she_ was usually quite sensible, Sirius thought, as he dropped his trunk and let her hug him tightly around the shoulders. "We missed you," she said, smiling at him, her copper-red hair glowing slightly orange in the afternoon sunlight. "How were your exams? All fine?"

"I'll hold out till I get the results," Sirius grumbled.

"Don't be silly, I'm sure they're fine," Ginny said, waving away his protest. "Hannie, say hello to Sirius." The little girl who was clutching onto Ginny's skirt with one hand and sucking her thumb with the other, waved timidly. She had long blonde hair down to her waist, and was about five or six years old.

"You must be new," Sirius said, smiling, but the girl only turned away and buried her face in Ginny's skirt.

"She's still shy," Ginny sighed, hoisting the child up onto her hip. "But we'll get there."

"How many do we have now?" Sirius asked as they walked towards the archway. Various people waved and called out to him as they passed, fellow Slytherins, friends from other houses, other Prefects._ "See you round, Jenson! Have a good summer!" _

"Twelve," Ginny replied. "Hannie just arrived last week. It's been a bit hectic, to tell the truth. We're that glad you're back."

Sirius had to stop himself from making a face. It wasn't that he objected to having his house constantly overrun by little kids - unless they made the mistake of going in _his _room - but it could get a little much, sometimes. Everyone thought it was very admirable of his dad to run the halfway home in his own house, and he supposed it _was,_ but it wasn't as if _he_ had ever asked to be a part of it. It had just always been around, ever since he could remember. It had been great when he was little, always having other children to play with, though they were usually not there for any great length of time. His dad always found a real home for them to go to, and then he would have to make friends with the new kids, usually shy and scared and vulnerable, and wary of this dark-haired, overly-energetic child with the bright emerald-green eyes.

Once Sirius hit his teen years, however, the whole thing had become a lot less fun. He still cringed to think of the summer after his third year when he had locked himself in his room for weeks on end, refusing to talk to anyone or help look after the kids, even when one of them got really sick and needed constant care. It had been around that point that his dad's 'friend' Ginny had moved in, to be constantly on call for her young charges. When Sirius came back home the next Christmas, she and his dad were engaged, and they were married the following summer. Sirius hadn't been sure how he felt about that at the time. It was weird having a _mum_. It had always just been him and his dad. His dad's friends were around a lot, but they weren't there _all the time_. They weren't a real part of their family.

Ginny was all right, though. It could have been a lot worse. Ginny seemed to understand his weird moods, the occasional bursts of anger, the bouts of sulking that could go on for days. He had mostly grown out of that sort of behaviour now - at least, he _hoped _he had - but Ginny was a lot better with dealing with that kind of thing than his dad was. His dad was good with the little kids, but ask him to hold an actual conversation about how _Sirius _was feeling - well, you might as well be talking to a suit of armour.

Ginny buckled Hannie into the backseat of the car while Sirius got in the front, and then she drove them out of the station car park and into the afternoon traffic, chatting amiably, asking him about school and telling him about what they had been up to at the home since Christmas. "The upstairs bedroom - you know, the one that used to be Danny's - well, it was empty for a bit so we repainted, its a lovely shade of blue now, you'll see - there's a boy called Thomas in there now, you'll meet him later - "

Sirius smiled and nodded and tapped his foot against the floor mat, watching the semi-familiar route pass by through the window. It was quite a long drive to the house, which was out in the country, so that it was getting quite dark by the time they grew near. He could feel himself getting more and more apprehensive as the minutes ticked by.

"Here we are," Ginny said, pulling into the garage. "I'll get Hannie, you go up and put your things away."

"Mm." Sirius went round and pulled his trunk out of the boot, grunting at the weight, and slammed the door shut. He glared at the trunk. He supposed he _could _shrink it, to make it easier, since he was of age now, but then he'd only have to unshrink it again when he got upstairs. _Be a man, Jenson_, he thought irritably. He hoisted the trunk onto his shoulder and carried it up the steps to the front door, and then up the three flights of stairs to his attic room. It was a big house. It had to be, for the number of people that lived there at any one time. But the attic room had always been his, and Sirius liked it that way, even if it did mean that by the time he got up there he was puffing under the weight of the trunk. He dumped it at the foot of his bed and looked around to make sure no one had been messing around in his stuff since his last visit. Satisfied, he wandered back downstairs to where Ginny was making dinner. There were three children - Hannie and two others he remembered from Christmas - watching her intently.

"All done," he said.

"Did you put your washing in the basket?"

Sirius made a face behind her back.

"Don't make that face."

Sirius wondered how on earth she did that. "I'll do it later," he promised. He took a deep breath. "Where's dad?"

Ginny glanced over her shoulder at him. "In the study with Beth, I think. Go on and say hello. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Sirius swallowed. "Okay." He turned and went down the hall to the study. There were low voices coming through the door. He knew he probably shouldn't disturb his father if he was in a meeting, but he had already waited three months, eleven days and six hours, and he knew that if he didn't do it now, he would lose his nerve, and then he might never know. He knocked.

"Come in!" called his dad's voice.

Sirius opened the door. His dad was sitting behind the desk, which was, as usual, spotless. All the files and things were locked securely in the filing cabinet, and had been ever since Sirius had tried to take a sneaky peek at some of them when he was little. His dad blinked at him for a moment and then glanced up at the clock. "It's that time already? Where's the day gone?"

The woman sitting in the chair opposite the desk leaned forward and smacked his arm. "Mark! Say hello to your son, for Merlin's sake." She stood up and smiled at Sirius. He smiled back and hugged her easily when she held out her arms to him. Beth had worked at the home for ages, since Sirius was four or so. She was a cheerful, buxom lady who was the favourite all of all the little kids. When Sirius was little he had wanted Beth to be his mum, but all his dad would ever say was that she was much, much too young for him. But everyone said Ginny was too young for him as well, so he wasn't sure what that had to do with anything.

"Hi Beth," he said. Some of the little kids called her Miss Beth, or Miss Green - or, lately, Mrs Weasley - but to Sirius, she had always just been Beth.

"Look at you!" she exclaimed, ruffling his hair. No one ever seemed to care that he was too old now to have his hair ruffled. Apparently it just invited that sort of treatment, but then, it never seemed to make any difference. His hair just sat that way. "Are you all unpacked?"

Sirius coughed and avoided that question. "Professor Ross says hi to you and Quin," he said instead, and she smiled.

"I really should write to him. Poor William. We've just been so busy. Your dad and I were just talking about building some more bedrooms and getting more people here full time."

He smiled weakly. "Er, great."

Beth looked between him and his dad, sensing the unease in the air. "Well," she said decisively. "I better let the two of you catch up." She patted him on the shoulder and made her exit. The closing of the study door sounded oddly like a gong ringing in Sirius' head.

He turned back to look at his dad. The man looked much the same as he had the last time. Thin. Dark hair, though not quite as dark as Sirius' own. Skin covered in scars. A stubborn sort of chin. Two missing fingers on his right hand. And behind rectangular spectacles, tired grey eyes that nevertheless always had a little spark of _something _in them. Sirius wondered if it was that same something that made people think he was a bit doolally. Or maybe it was the rumours about him, the mad stories about the emergency Auror who had been captured by the Dark Lord during the war, and tortured, and had been the first person ever to escape. They said he had come home to find his wife and son were both dead, and they said he had brought with him the ghost of one of Professor Snape's famous spies, and how together they had helped defeat Voldemort in those final days. That was the stuff people _said_. And while no one in Sirius' life - Ginny, Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, Mr Lupin, Beth, Quin, Professor Ross, Dumbledore - no one actually _denied _any of the rumours, no one would ever talk about them either. But it wasn't those things that Sirius _really _wanted to know about.

"Welcome back," his dad said, smiling. "Sorry - my head's been somewhere else."

Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he sat in Beth's vacated chair. "Your head's _always _somewhere else, Dad."

Mark Jenson grimaced. "Yeah, good point. How were your exams?"

Sirius shrugged. "Not too bad. 'Cept maybe Potions. My shrinking solution ended up sort of turquoise. Professor Snape might just decide to fail me on it." Sirius did not get on with Professor Snape. The man always treated him as if he might deliberately attempt to poison the whole class, even though he had never done anything to warrant such suspicion.

His Dad's lips twitched slightly. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen."

Sirius very much doubted that Professor Dumbledore checked the sixth year exam papers before the results went out, but he decided to ignore this. He set his shoulders, his toes curling up tight inside his trainers. "Dad?"

"Yes, son?" Mark raised an eyebrow.

"I'm seventeen now."

Mark feigned a look of total surprise. "Are you? Well, strike me down."

"Dad..."

"Yes, all right. You were seventeen in March. I distinctly remember sending you a gift. Did you not like it?"

"No, Dad - I mean yeah, the watch was great. Is great. I just... well, remember, last year, you promised we could talk about..."

His Dad's brow furrowed, at first with confusion, then with discomfort as he realised what his son was referring to. "Sirius, I don't know if now is the time..."

"Dad," Sirius said firmly. "You _promised_. You said we could talk about it when I was of age, and now I _am_ of age, and I want to _know_. I want to know... about my mum."

~*-0-*~

The boy had been quiet all through dinner. This was not unusual, in fact, since the age of fourteen or so, Sirius had always been a serious sort of boy. Quite like his father, Ginny always thought, but this was a dark, brooding sort of quiet, the kind that in Sirius' case usually preceded an explosion. He excused himself before dessert and disappeared into the back garden.

"That went well," Mark sighed as they washed up, rubbing the spot on his forehead where a semi-permanent glamour charm hid the lightning bolt scar.

"How much did you tell him?" she asked, without looking up. She knew Mark had been dreading the conversation ever since Sirius had brought it up - yet again - last summer. Though privately she had thought that the boy was old enough then, at sixteen, she didn't dare suggest so to Mark. It was his story, and his decision when to tell it.

"Everything," her husband replied. "No point going half-arsed at it."

"Good," Ginny said firmly. "He deserves to know where he came from."

Mark put down the tea towel and turned to stare at her. She had stopped thinking of him as Harry a long time ago. Hard as it was to accept, the Harry she had known really had died that day in Hogsmeade. She loved Mark in quite a different way, though it had taken her several years to make the distinction.

"No one deserves to hear that," he said softly.

Ginny sighed. Mark didn't talk about the past, much. He preferred to keep it in the past. His mantra was 'make new memories'. But they had both known this day would come eventually, ever since the day they had stood watching Grimmauld Place burn down. Ron had shown up not long after that, saying that Blaise was dead, that _all _the prisoners were dead, and it had all just been a diversion. A lot of Death Eaters had died as well that day, including Lucius Malfoy. Everyone was relieved when he did not follow in his son's ghostly footsteps.

"Everyone should know who they are, love," Ginny said patiently. "It's hard for him to hear, but he's an adult now. He ought to know the truth."

Mark looked with trepidation towards the back door. "Even if it means he hates me?"

Ginny shook her head. "He could never hate you. You're his dad."

"He's a teenager, Gin. Pretty sure they all hate their parents at some time or another, with less reason than he has now."

Ginny stepped towards him, pushing the wet dishcloth into his hands as she kissed him. "I'll talk to him," she promised. "You can finish the dishes."

Sirius was siting on the old bench at the bottom of the garden. No one had much time to tend to the garden these days, a fact which Neville always tutted over whenever he was around. It had a wild, urban jungle feel to it, with ivy lining the tall brick walls and weeds shooting up between the paving stones. There was a plopping sound coming from somewhere, and as Ginny drew closer, she realised the boy was tossing pebbles into the pond. There were no fish in it, and it had long since gone near bright green with algae. Ginny had been meaning to drain it in case one of the little kids wandered outside and fell in it, though it wasn't really deep enough to drown a cat.

She came up carefully and squeezed onto the bench next to him. He didn't say anything, but there were tears drying on his cheeks. She handed him a handkerchief, and he wiped them angrily and threw the rest of his pebbles at once, causing a splash that made a nearby owl start and fly away. "I'm sorry you've had a shock, love," she said gently.

He sniffed. "Sort of," he muttered defensively.

"It's all right to be upset. This is why your dad wanted to wait. It's a lot to take in."

He made a low, choking noise. He looked up at her, and she was struck yet again by how much of Harry there was in him. Especially the eyes, which shone bright now in the light of the setting sun. "You mean about Dad really being Harry Potter, or about my mum being the one who tortured him?"

Ginny winced. "He really _did_ tell you everything."

"Pretty much."

"Are you angry?"

"Well, yeah." He kicked at the legs of the bench with his heels. "My whole life is a lie. Even my name is a lie. Sirius _Potter_," he spat. "He's been lying to _everyone_."

Ginny shook her head. "Not everyone. I knew. So did his friends, and anyone who was in the Order. You know about the Order, don't you?"

"Yeah." Sirius rolled his eyes. "I did mostly pay attention in History of Magic. But I didn't think Dad was in it - I mean I know _you _were, and Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione…"

"Well, the real Mark Jenson was never in the Order. We thought it best your dad keep his story as close to the real Mark as possible."

"But why did he have to be Jenson at all?" Sirius demanded, his voice breaking slightly. "If _you _all knew who he was, why couldn't he just tell everyone the truth?"

Ginny considered her answer to this. The truth was that it had taken her a while to understand it herself, when Harry had made the decision to stay dead in the eyes of the world. Ron had argued. Hermione less so. Lupin and Dumbledore had somehow seen the sense in it. Kingsley, who had taken over as Minister soon after Voldemort's death, had been absolutely against it, for the real Jenson's sake, but Harry had been adamant. "I think it was easier on your dad," she said, watching the owl swoop back to its perch, landing indignantly and puffing up its feathers. "It was hard enough to convince the people who knew him well. If he tried to convince the rest of the world, people would have doubted him, tested him… probably for the rest of his life. He used to say that everything that made him Harry was gone. He even lost all his things in the fire. His invisibility cloak, that belonged to his dad, his photo album… everything. The memories he lost never came back, and those he did have… well. That's why he's always talking about making new memories. And he wanted to make them with you," she added. "Not people who thought he should be something more than what he was."

Sirius was quiet for a while. Ginny hoped he was thinking about what he had said and not wallowing in self pity, though he had every right to do so. "He's not that much older than you really then, is he?" he said after a while.

Ginny blinked, surprised at the question. "Er, no," she admitted. "Only a few months, actually."

"He looks older."

"He went through a lot," Ginny said patiently. "He's still your dad, Siri." She reached out and tucked a lock of scruffy dark hair back behind his ear. "And you're all your dad, thank goodness."

"But my mum was a Death Eater," Sirius growled. "I always thought… maybe she was really ill, or something, and that's why he never talks about her." He let out a short, choking sort of laugh. "No wonder we don't have any pictures. No wonder Snape's always watched me so close - he thinks I'm going to turn out like her, doesn't he?" He kicked the bench again and shook his head. "Why couldn't Dad have told me this ages ago?"

Ginny put her hand on his knee. "Would you have understood?

Sirius' shoulders slumped. "Yes… no… I don't know. It's just that I always thought… I always assumed… that whoever she was…" he swallowed hard. "That she loved me. But I guess that was silly, wasn't it?"

"No love." Ginny sensed a movement behind her, and she smiled. "It's not silly at all." She patted his knee and stood up, making way for her husband to sit in her place, and walked slowly back to the house to help Beth put the children to bed.

Mark put an arm around his son's shoulders, not commenting on the way they shook slightly. The boy had been stone-faced throughout the story as it was told, getting whiter and whiter with each new revelation, to the point where Mark had wondered if he ought to offer something to be sick into. It was good to see him letting out his disappointment, though it broke Mark's heart a little to see it. At least he wasn't pushing him away, or shouting. "I think she did love you, you know," Mark said eventually. It was the only thing he hadn't really had a chance to say, before, and it was the hardest thing he'd had to admit to anyone, ever.

Sirius sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"No, I mean it." He sighed. "She thought I was going to kill you, and she tried to protect you from me, before she died. She was more than a little mad by then, but something inside her cared about you, somehow."

Sirius sat up a little straighter at that. "Dad?" he said after a while.

"Yes?"

"Is there a grave?"

Mark frowned. "For your mum?"

Sirius shook his head. "No. For your friend. Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, him. Yes. I go there every now and then, if I need someone to talk to. Would you like to see it?"

"Yeah, maybe. Some time."

Mark let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "What about your mum, eh? We could… plant a tree, or… or something." The thought was a little repellent - Draco certainly wouldn't approve - but all the anger and fear he had held for Bellatrix had faded away over the years. She was just a memory now, one of the pre-Mark memories he tried not to recollect. But it might be important to Sirius, and he was prepared to do anything for his son, as he always had been.

The boy shook his head again. "No," he said, almost forcefully. "I'd rather have Ginny for a mum, anyway."

Mark smiled and ruffled Sirius' hair. "I'm glad to hear that." Sirius grimaced and tugged his hair back into place, not that it did much good.

They sat for a while and listened as the night creatures came out around them, the low hoot of owls that liked to nest in the nearby trees, a scurry of a rabbit or some other small animal through the tall grasses near the fence line.

Sirius had his whole life ahead of him, Mark thought. That was all he had ever wanted for him. And now the truth was out, and so far, the bond he had built for them over the last seventeen years hadn't totally fallen apart. That was a victory that even his nightmares couldn't take away from him, and those were few and far between these days. Frankly it still amazed him that everyone around him was still here. Still living their lives. And he still had them, and Sirius still had him, and those they had lost would still be there, waiting, when the time came.

A dog howled in the distance, perhaps from one of the neighbouring farms. A frog croaked, no doubt annoyed at all the new pebbles that had shown up in his pond. The moon rose higher in the sky, the world moved on around them. And in the midst of it all, father and son sat looking up at the night sky, pondering on the past, and looking forward to what the future would bring.

* * *

And that's _really _the end.

Now for the little nostalgic bit. _Still Alive _was conceived way back in 2005 - when I was _sixteen_, for heaven's sake, before even the release of Half Blood Prince... The first installment ended in 2007, followed by _Still Fighting_ not long after, but after one chapter it was abandoned in 2008. The truth is that although I had vague ideas of how I wanted the story to go, I was now older and wiser and annoyed at sixteen-year-old me for creating plot holes I now had to deal with. In the intervening years I got lots of reviews expressing sadness at the tale's abandonment, so that when I started writing again in 2011, the idea of continuing wasn't totally absent from my mind. The response for the second chapter which finally appeared in April 2012 was so encouraging that I made the decision that this story WOULD be finished if it killed me. I almost gave up a few times but was spurred along by people who read and reviewed the chapters nearly every week, especially **Emily, mykyou **and **Effrat Loony. **To them and everyone else who popped in over the last few months to offer encouragement... thank you. This story would not have been finished without you.

I hope you enjoyed the ending and are satisfied that I managed to address _most _of the plotholes dug by sixteen-year-old me. If not (or if you are and want me to know), leave me one final review or head over to my fanfiction blog, **misssaigonfic** on tumblr (link on my profile if you're too lazy to google).

Speaking of the blog, I posted the Hear You Me song for last chapter on there - that song is basically the Still Fighting anthem slash Draco's funeral song - and will hopefully be re-posting the soundtrack for Still Alive _and _the new soundtrack for Still Fighting (or, just one that encompasses both stories... I haven't decided yet) as soon as I figure out the best way to share both the music and the artwork with you guys.

If you haven't read my main WiP at the moment, Raindrops on Roses, I suggest you head on over there and read that... cos that's where I'll be! I have an idea for a new project as well but I won't share the details until RoR is waaay closer to being finished.

And with that, Happy Christmas to all and thank you thank you thank you for the last seven years. It's been a blast.


End file.
